


More Than Words, J2 RPS, AU, NC-17

by fufaraw (arliss)



Series: More Than Words [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, Dubious Consent, Dystopia, J2, M/M, Mpreg, NC-17, RPS - Freeform, Slavery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arliss/pseuds/fufaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scientists and statisticians have monitored falling birth rates for decades, helpless as declining fertility predicted possible human extinction. But a new ray of hope was discovered; boys are tested in their twelfth year, and the small percentage who are capable of conceiving are taken, separated for education and training in their new way of life. At eighteen, each is assigned to the man who will father the children he will bear. Jensen missed his testing; his status is discovered when he's an adult. Unprepared, untrained, and unwilling, he's assigned to Jared. Jared is conflicted by his desire to father children, his growing love for the man placed in his care, and sympathy for Jensen's difficulty adjusting to the changes in his life. Resentful and rebellious, Jensen finds unexpected strength and support from the man he should hate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. More Than Words

**Author's Note:**

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> 

****

 

  
_Nature had decided his role, and the law upheld her decision_

**ONE**  


  
"I can't get the fingering right on the bridge," Jensen complained, setting his guitar case carefully on the passenger side floorboard of his truck. "I need more practice. I don't think we should include the song until I get it right."  
  
"Song's in, son," Christian grinned at him, slinging his own guitar case into the bed of his pickup alongside Steve's. "Just have to be what we like to call OJT." He swatted at Jensen's shoulder, and Steve pulled him in for a quick hug before climbing into the cab. Jason, his own guitar already stowed in the trunk of his Camry, raised a hand.  
  
"So. Airport, 5:00 AM, right?" Jason asked. "Anybody need a ride? Say something now, because I'm gonna go finish packing and try and catch some sleep."  
  
"Nah, man. Josh volunteered to drop me off, but thanks." He felt the stretch of the grin on his face, and saw it mirrored on the faces of his friends as they all climbed into their respective vehicles. This time tomorrow they'd be landing in England, for three weeks' tour, playing, singing, and sightseeing. And sampling the charms of the local young women, without doubt. Girls loved singer-guitar players, and that made Jensen happy. He also loved this chance to work on his career as a musician. The tour of England, Germany and France was going to look good on his resume, whether he played with the guys or took solo gigs, as they all did occasionally.  
  
He forced his mind away from thoughts of the troublesome finger work and the flight, and onto his list of things still to pack. His brother had agreed to drop Jensen at the airport in the morning so his truck wouldn't sit in long-term parking while he was gone. But Jensen needed to get those last few items into his bags, have some food, visit a little with his family and do his best to catch some shuteye before that early wakeup call. Preoccupied, he didn't notice the white van in the driveway before he pulled in.  
  
A little alarmed, he calmed once he took a better look and assured himself it wasn't an ambulance. But as far as he knew, none of the family's friends drove white vans, and there was no logo for a business or service--just a late-model, plain, unmarked white van.  
  
His alarm grew as he parked, got out, and started around to retrieve his guitar and two uniformed policemen blocked his path. A man in a dark business suit stood behind them, and behind him were Josh and his parents. His mom looked like she'd been crying, his dad looked poleaxed, holding a sheet of paper in one hand.  
  
"Mom? Dad, what's going on?"  
  
"Jensen, you need to come with me," the stranger spoke, and Jensen didn't even spare him a glance. He attempted to go to his parents past the uniforms, but they each took him by a bicep and pushed him toward the van. He struggled, but both of them were big men, and they weren't letting go.  
  
"What--? Let me go! What are you doing?" As they forced him implacably toward the van, he twisted in their grip, meeting his father's stricken gaze. "Dad? Dad! What's going on?"  
  
But his father seemed struck dumb. His mom was sobbing audibly, and from the quick glimpse he'd had, Josh had a steadying arm around her, and his face wore a look of shock, too. "Somebody tell me what the hell's going on? What have I done? Where are we going? Hey!" He yanked hard, but the cops' grip never slackened. He was forced into a seat in the back of the van, a cop on either side of him, and they quickly had him belted in, even while they still had him by the biceps.  
  
He craned forward as much as he could to see what was going on outside, and was even more confused, if a little relieved, to see Arthur Clark's Acura pull into the driveway and park directly in front of the van, blocking its exit. Jensen had known Arthur all his life. He handled the family's legal business, as well as being his dad's friend. Clark didn't speak to the family, though. He headed straight for the stranger in the suit, a folder in his hand, which he gave to the stranger. The man looked over the papers inside the folder briefly, gave a slanted look from under his brows at Clark, nodded, then walked around and got into the driver's seat, starting up the van.  
  
"Hey! Who are you?" Jensen demanded. "What's this all about? Where are you taking me?" None of the three men answered, and Jensen struggled between the uniforms who still held him by the arms. "What the hell's going on?" He managed to duck and turn enough to see his family in the driveway as the van pulled away, all of them looking blank and stricken. Clark didn't look any more cheerful.  
  
When he turned to face forward and attempt to figure out where they were going, he caught the driver's eyes in the rear-view mirror. But the man didn't enlighten him. And the cops never spoke.  
  
The building was nondescript, anonymous; Jensen had passed it hundreds of times and never wondered about it. There wasn't a logo or a business name anywhere he could see on the facade the van approached before it turned and entered an underground garage. They stopped at an interior door and everyone got out. Another guy got behind the wheel and drove the van away to park it while the man in the suit and the cops ushered Jensen inside the building. He clamped his lips shut, stubborn now. He wouldn't keep asking questions nobody was answering. He'd keep his eyes and ears open and try to learn what he could.  
  
Into an elevator, up several floors, and out into a bland and unremarkable lobby. Following the man in the suit, the uniforms marched him past a reception desk manned by an equally unremarkable middle-aged woman, through a set of swinging doors and down a featureless corridor. The linoleum floor gleamed in the light from a window at the end, and blank closed doors were ranked evenly along the walls of the narrow space. It wasn't silent, but sound was muted and indistinct: voices, music--recorded music.  
  
The man stopped at a door and opened it, the uniforms ushered Jensen inside and let him go. He turned to watch them leave the room as the man stood in the doorway. "Jensen, you're going to be with us for a few days. You should be comfortable here. Dinner will be delivered in about an hour. Your television works, it gets a small selection of channels. I suggest you relax, rest. There's a shower through there," he indicated a door and a room beyond it. "I'll see about a change of clothes for you."  
  
"Am I under arrest? Is this--jail?"  
  
"No, Jensen. This is just a way station. Your family's lawyer filed papers to prevent us proceeding as planned, so you're here until that's all sorted out."  
  
"Until what's sorted out? And for how long? I have a plane to catch early in the morning--"  
  
"You won't be on that plane, Jensen. And I imagine you won't be here for more than a week or two. Then we can move on to the next phase for you."  
  
"I want to see my lawyer. I want to talk to my parents. You can't keep me here without telling me what I've done. I have rights--"  
  
"You will see your lawyer tomorrow, and no doubt your parents, too." The man didn't address Jensen's rights, or his supposed crime. He merely nodded, stepped out into the corridor, and closed the door behind him, leaving Jensen alone in the strange room. Jensen automatically tried the doorknob; of course it was locked. He turned to survey his surroundings: white walls, ceiling, a white-painted narrow bed with white sheets and a blue blanket, a small table beside the bed and a straight-backed wooden chair, a lamp. The room was about ten feet wide and twelve feet deep. There was a window above the bed, with bars on it. The door opened onto a bathroom with mint-green walls, antiseptically clean, with a white toilet, wall-hung basin, and shower stall. Two white towels lay folded on the toilet lid. There was a small television bolted to the wall in the corner of the bedroom, high up near the ceiling. A remote lay on the table. No books, no magazines, no radio or iPod dock, no complimentary laptop.  
  
He stood in the middle of the room and tried to think through everything that had happened lately. What on earth could he have done to end up here? And why were they being so secretive? He hadn't been read his rights, he hadn't even been searched. He hadn't been formally arrested. What the hell was going on?  
  
  
He was woken by the sound of the latch, and a man in street clothes entered with a tray, which he set down on the table. "You have visitors scheduled in an hour. I'll be back to take you there."  
  
Jensen pushed up on one elbow to inventory the tray. "No coffee?" he asked, surprised and disappointed.  
  
"No," the man said, no apology or explanation offered as he left, locking the door behind him.  
  
Fuck, Jensen thought, reaching out for a triangle of dry toast. There wasn't even butter or jelly on the tray, and the scrambled eggs looked lonely without bacon or sausage to keep them company. He tasted the little bowl of oatmeal, but it had been cooked without fruit or spices, unlike the cinnamon and raisins or cranberries and clove his mom used, and he grimaced at the taste. There wasn't even any salt on the eggs. He ate everything, though; he was hungry. At least the orange juice had some flavor.  
  
He showered, unwrapping a motel-sized sliver of soap, and toweling dry before putting on his clothes from yesterday again. Not too grubby, but not fresh, either. He used the travel-sized toothpaste and the new toothbrush he'd unwrapped the night before after an early night watching boring TV after a dinner as tasteless as this morning's breakfast.  
  
He could use a shave. And a damn cup of coffee. He was more than ready to get out of this cell when the man who'd brought breakfast unlocked his door and beckoned him into the hall. Jensen followed as he was led back to the lobby, and gestured toward a doorway in a corner. He entered a smallish room, furnished with plain but comfortable-looking furniture, where his parents and Arthur Clark waited.  
  
There was no greeting, no smile, no lift in his dad's voice as he pulled Jensen in for a hug. His mom rushed to hug him, too, her face stained with tears, fresh ones threatening. Clark stood by the armchair across from the sofa, his briefcase at his feet and a sheaf of papers on the coffee table before him. Alan Ackles put an arm around his son's shoulders and led him to an empty chair. "Sit down, son." When Jensen did, he stepped away and joined his wife on the sofa. "Arthur is here to explain everything to us, and to discuss what options we may have."  
  
"Dad?" Jensen's sense of foreboding grew. "What's going on? Have I done something wrong?"  
  
"Jensen," Mr. Clark forestalled his panic. "You haven't done anything wrong. But this is about you, just you, primarily, and the rest of your family only secondarily."  
  
Whatever it was, he needed to know, right now. "Tell me."  
  
Later, Jensen would be unable to recall the exact words that reduced his life to rubble. The essence of it was that, in sixth grade, he had been dangerously ill and confined to his bed for nearly a month with a stubborn case of pneumonia and an array of complications. The skiing trip that had been planned for his twelfth birthday had been postponed, and then cancelled. And during his absence from school and amid all the worry of illness and convalescence, one factor had been neglected. All the boys in Jensen's class had undergone routine screening, the test that identified ceiver males. Those boys positive for breeder status had been separated from the regular curriculum and placed in another designed to teach them how to manage their new way of life, to prepare them for what lay ahead. Because of Jensen's illness, he had not been tested. Because of his lengthy absence, the testing and separation of ceiver boys was long over and done by the time Jensen returned to school. And the subject had never surfaced again in the years since.  
  
Two months ago, the band had finished arranging with promoters and club owners the chance in a lifetime tour of gigs and a trip to Europe and England. Never having been out of the country before, Jensen had to apply for a passport. With current strictures on travel, a thorough physical exam was required before a first passport could be issued. Jensen had received his passport just this week. But apparently there had been some irregularity, completely unexpected and only caught after the passport had already been issued. Clark had copies of all the test results, but the one on top of the stack was the nail in Jensen's coffin. One of the tests had been a ceiver screening, just routine, and Jensen had tested positive.  
  
"I've already filed a stay," Clark assured them. "Fifteen days is the longest they'll grant without additional reason. It's time enough for a second opinion, which is necessary, of course. And it's also time for me to do some legal digging, to see if I can find a precedent, or some reason for setting this contract aside."  
  
"Contract?" Jensen's father asked.  
  
Clark nodded. "Upon status determination, the ceiver becomes the ward of the state, which contracts each breeder to a fertile male, a pere. The pere has legal custody of the ceiver from that point, until or unless he surrenders custody back to the state. If that happens, the ceiver is then contracted to a new custodial pere. We want to prevent the pere from claiming Jensen immediately, to give us time to either overturn the decision by a negative second opinion, or to fight it on legal grounds. Perhaps we can do something with the state's lapse in thorough testing. It was their error that allowed Jensen to go unscreened until now. Because of their oversight, he's had none of the preparation and training he should have had for the last dozen years. That ought to be enough to go forward with."  
  
Jensen raised his head, wearing a dazed look. No one in the room could blame him. "Fifteen days?" he asked. "Do I have to stay here for fifteen days? And where the hell is this place, anyway?"  
  
Clark sighed, and looked significantly toward the corners of the ceiling, toward the light fixture overhead, making sure the others noticed and caught his meaning. No doubt their conversation was being monitored. They should keep their conversation and comments circumspect.  
  
"This is a facility the Department of Reproduction uses to temporarily house people whose cases fall outside the usually brightly defined guidelines. Ceivers involved in disputes over custody--of themselves or their children. More rarely, discipline cases, or the occasional ceiver who needs mental counseling, treatment, or both."  
  
Jensen and his parents looked justifiably stunned.  
  
"So what happens now?" Jensen asked.  
  
"We have a second opinion exam scheduled for you tomorrow. It's going to be much more thorough than the one for the passport was, just to make sure there was no mistake. Meanwhile, my staff and I are devoting full time to research, in hopes of finding a precedent we can use, or some loophole in your case we can exploit to have your status as a ceiver rescinded and cancelled."  
  
"Okay," Jensen nodded, exchanging glances with his parents, who looked more hopeful at Clark's plans. "So, can I get out of here, now?"  
  
Clark shook his head. "I'm sorry. Apparently these cases are rare, but there are some previous ones where the individual attempted to escape the country. The Department views you as a possible flight risk, and they have the discretion to keep you in their custody until the challenge is resolved, one way or the other."  
  
"But I haven't done anything wrong!"  
  
"I know, Jensen, and I'm sorry. But these are the laws, and there isn't any way around them. I'll accompany you to the doctor's office tomorrow, but you'll be in the custody of two officers of the court, as you will be any time you're out of the facility.  
  
"Your family will be allowed to visit--you have a total of two hours per day of visitation time between 9:00 AM and 7:00 PM. That can be an hour in the morning and an hour after lunch, or two hours at a time, up to you and your visitors."  
  
Jensen still looked dazed. "Can I have some of my clothes? Books? My iPod, my laptop? Oh, and food? I haven't had any coffee this morning, and breakfast sucked."  
  
Clark's smile flickered as he spoke to the Ackles and their son. "We can bring you clothes, and books, magazines. Your iPod should be fine. You're not allowed to communicate with anyone except visitors during visiting hours, so no phone calls unless they're to me or your family, and no Internet access."  
  
Clark looked mildly embarrassed as he explained the dietary rules. "You're not allowed caffeine, alcohol, sugar, fatty foods, or salt. The diet you'll follow while you're here is the one you're required to follow once you're placed with your pere." At the sudden reaction of all three Ackles, Clark hastened to add, "Should that be the outcome, of course."  
  
Jensen stared at him in disgust. "This sucks."  
  
Jensen's mom made a clucking sound at his language. His dad grinned a little, and Clark ducked his head in agreement. "Yes, it does, and I'm sorry. I'd circumvent it if I could, but at present I don't see a way to do that."  
  
"Okay, so we prove these guys wrong and I get to go home, right?"  
  
"That is our hope, yes."  
  
"You don't sound convinced, Art," Alan challenged his attorney.  
  
Clark regarded them gravely, each in turn. "You all must understand. As far as I've been able to ascertain till now, no one has been successful at extricating a child, or one's self, from the ceiver program once his status was confirmed. My staff and I are committed to this case. We'll do absolutely everything possible. But ultimately, I'm not confident in our success."  
  
Jensen's eyes were wide with apprehension. "Suppose we do lose. What happens then?"  
  
"Jensen--" his mother reached out for him. He caught her hand and held it in both of his, but his gaze was fastened on the lawyer.  
  
"If you are confirmed as a ceiver, the contract will be enforced. You'll be put into the custody of the man who has been chosen as your pere. You will become a member of his household, and will abide by his decisions as to where you live, how often you see your family, which of your friends you can spend time with. You will be accompanied at all times outside the house, either by your pere or by a licensed chaperone. In effect, your autonomy and rights as a citizen are surrendered to your pere. He will father the children you bear."  
  


**TWO**  


  
Jared tipped the messenger and hurried back inside, eagerly ripping open the envelope as he made his way to the desk in his study. He spilled out the contents and fanned them across the shining mahogany surface. His ceiver. He finally had photographic proof the man existed, and he was stunning! From the written description Jared had gotten earlier he knew that Jensen was tall, over six feet, but still shorter than Jared's 6'5. Height, weight, hair color--light brown, eye color--green. The facts he'd been given were just words. The photographs were color candids, taken at a picnic, and the sun struck glints in Jensen's hair and lit up his eyes as though he carried the light source behind them. A fine dusting of freckles was apparent in a couple of the closeups, and the imagined taste of them, of Jensen's skin, made Jared's mouth water. Jensen was broad shouldered, trim waisted, with a flat stomach and slightly bowed legs, and Jared thought he'd never seen a more attractive man. He couldn't wait to meet him. To hear that laugh for himself, to see those eyes light up for him.  
  
Jared couldn't wait to be a father. His family was almost as excited as he that he'd had the luck to have a ceiver contracted to him while he was so young, though it wasn't really a surprise, given the family's proven fertility. Jared had two siblings, almost unheard of these days, and his elder brother and his wife had already produced two daughters. Jensen's bio said he had two siblings as well; Repro had very high expectations for their union. It was important to all of his family that Jared carry on the family line, and he and Jensen were going to make some amazingly pretty babies.  
  
His face fell, and his eagerness dimmed just a little. The weeks' delay in Jensen's being welcomed to Jared's household was reportedly due to a cascade of unfortunate circumstances, beginning with the lack of Jensen's identification and confirmation as a ceiver in adolescence. He had never known of his status, had never been educated in his own anatomy and his destined purpose, nor had he been trained in any of the things ceivers needed to know to become good mates, to conceive quickly, carry and deliver with as few complications as possible, let alone in child care and rearing.  
  
First there had been the two weeks' stay while lawyers for the Ackles and the Department of Reproduction fought and debated over who was at fault for the oversight and whether or not Jensen could be assigned as a ceiver if he had not been raised as one and had never received the training. Evidently the Ackles and Jensen himself had fought desperately to avoid his assignment, but to no avail. Nature had decided his role, and the law upheld her decision.  
  
It had been decided, however, that to thrust Jensen into his new role completely unprepared was a probable disaster in the making. So an additional two weeks were set aside as a time for him to learn about his responsibilities, and to prepare to live and serve as a ceiver. He had been lodged at the Ceiver Home, where ceivers were housed between contracts. If a ceiver's pere died, or tired of and surrendered him, he lived at the Ceiver Home until he was reassigned. Jensen had been isolated there from his family and friends, leaving his old life behind to concentrate on learning as much as he could about the new one, before coming home to Jared.  
  
Once Jensen arrived, there would be a month's seclusion, where he would not be allowed to see his family or his friends, all his attention and concentration to be focused on Jared, and on building a strong and lasting relationship that would, gods willing, be a stable, welcoming home for their children. Jared had the month's customary leave from work, and his family and friends expected not to hear from him for that first month. But Jensen's arrival date was still twelve days away. Jared's own attorneys had not been authorized to present him with the background information on Jensen until the state had ruled in his and Repro's favor, and it had taken them a day longer to round up the photos. There was another packet coming, the enclosed letter read, including childhood snapshots, school portraits, and information on Jensen's interests and pursuits.  
  
Evidently he had attended college, gotten a degree, and been employed with his father's advertising firm for more than a year. Jensen had played guitar and sung, solo, and with a group of friends from high school through college and after, and he had taken an extended vacation to join them on a tour of England and Europe, touring and playing for three weeks. It was the required screening for his passport that had detected his ceiver status.  
  
Jared's stomach sank as he read. God. Jensen must be devastated. His whole life, everything he'd believed about himself utterly wiped away, all his plans destroyed, his future completely rewritten, and nothing he could do to save any of it. Jensen had gone from a responsible, independent individual about to launch a new career performing music to someone who was now a ward of the state. He would be assigned to a strange home, under the care of a stranger. No longer allowed to make decisions about his own life, but living at the whim and direction of his pere, and of the state. Fuck. Adjustment to such a change in expectations had to be difficult at twelve, but there was a support system and a well-designed, thought-out, and implemented program to reaccustom ceivers to their lives as they matured through adolescence, emerging as adults ready to fulfill their biological roles.  
  
To be ripped away from his life with his family, his friends, the career he'd begun to build, his autonomy and independence at twenty-four? It didn't bear contemplation. Jared had no idea how to help Jensen cope with the changes in his life. He looked through the photographs again. He was already half in love with the man in the pictures, and he wanted him here, where he could touch and smell and taste and make urgent, passionate love to him. He had a terrible, unavoidable feeling that Jensen was regarding his future with Jared with dread and horror. And the worst thing of all? Jensen was straight.  
  


**THREE**  


  
"Do you know why we are called ceivers?" Randy asked the man following him down the corridor. He had met Jensen at the gates, taken custody of him from his family's attorney, had seen his hand come up reflexively in response to Randy's own outstretched for a welcoming handshake. And he'd seen the alarm and terror in Jensen's eyes at the solid-sounding chunk as the gate closed behind him. Not allowing him time to dwell, Randy had carefully hung an arm about Jensen's shoulders, propelling him into the reception area and down the hall toward the room that would be his for the next two weeks. Though shorter by two or three inches than the new ceiver, Randy was in his late thirties, and feeling a little parental toward the younger man. He had been selected for this difficult task because of his empathy, combined with the emotional strength developed by raising kids of his own. Sometimes you had to be tough, for them, even though what you wanted to do was gather them in and rock them through the hurt and the trauma. Jensen would not be helped by Randy being soft with him now.  
  
"Jensen?" he prompted a response to his question.  
  
The younger man swallowed, his gaze flickered to Randy's face and away again without settling or meeting his eyes. "No." He answered hoarsely.  
  
"We are receivers of our peres' affection and care, of their caresses and their love, of their semen as the spark of the life we carry inside us. And we are the conceivers of their children. We carry and bear and nurture the next generation for them, and for the world."  
  
Jensen looked pale as milk, and Randy could see the sweat beading his hairline and dampening his collar. He said nothing.  
  
"It's an ability granted to only a few. We're treasured and cared for and respected, Jensen. It's a life of service, true, but it's also one of great joy, one of great pride, and full of love." Randy keyed open the door and reached for Jensen's right hand. He pressed the pad of his index finger against the receptor; now it was keyed to Jensen and would open at his touch. Of course Randy and most of the staff had access, too, but it might give Jensen some small illusion of privacy to think he could lock his door. He wrapped an arm around the young man's shoulders again and ushered him inside.  
  


* * *

Orientation didn't matter as much when the ceiver started training at twelve. Before any actual realization of his sex drive toward girls, the ceiver's attention was redirected to his purpose. Taking care of their bodies involved a whole new type of exercise aimed at flexibility and stamina, rather than the strength and power of traditional sports. Dietary changes, changes in personal hygiene, all were geared toward the ceiver adapting to the new role he was born to fill. Classes in anatomy, the way their bodies had developed differently, adapted to bearing children. The changes in their bodies they could look forward to as each stage of pregnancy was reached, bringing them closer to delivery, all generated excitement and anticipation of when those things would happen to them. And childcare classes, from delivery through infancy and childhood right through adolescence, absorbed their attention and focused it on the families they would have. There were separate classes on raising daughters, sons, and ceivers, as each had specialized needs. Each ceiver was encouraged to devote his time, attention, and focus to the best nurturing he could provide for each of the children he would have.  
  
As they grew older, the focus turned more to the relationship ceivers would have with their peres. With solid foundation training on pregnancy and childcare, their sexual inclinations were already focused on being penetrated and impregnated by another male. Any desires they might have had for sex with a woman would almost always be modified into fellow-feeling, a desire for friendship with those who shared the role of bearer and rearer of children. Impulses might linger, but they would have little ground on which to grow, and little time or attention to develop, in the ceiver's larger concerns and demands on his time. Sexual beings as adolescents are, the ceivers' expectation of being the passive, or at least the receptive, partner in whatever relationships they would have, made them eager for the experience, ready to submit to the pere each was assigned to and begin their lives as ceivers. Most of them were assigned and contracted at eighteen, even seventeen if deemed physically and emotionally mature.  
  
For someone aged twenty-four, who had gone through his adolescence focused on girls and sports, then college and career and probably eventual marriage--  
  
The lump in Jared's throat wouldn't be swallowed. This was not going to be the simple, joyous occasion that he had looked forward to, not at all.  
  


* * *

  
Jared parked the car in the graveled lot. A solid masonry wall surrounded the place, the only entry offered by a heavy wooden gate. He pulled the cord on the iron bell, and a moment later the gate was opened by a man in a dress.  
  
Well no, it wasn't a dress. It appeared to be a pair of loose drawstring-type pants and a long tunic, and over that a sort of long vest. The outfit, plus the interior of the raked gravel courtyard with its spaced islands of plantings and rocks and boulders, gave off an Asian feel, intended, Jared supposed, to impart serenity and calmness.  
  
It wasn't working. Jared's stomach was doing barrel rolls. "I'm Jared Padalecki," he told the man. "I'm here to pick up--"  
  
"--Jensen, yes." The man nodded. "I'm Randy. He's ready, just through here," and stepped toward the building. "This way."  
  
Jared followed Randy into the reception area of the building and down one of the corridors that led deeper into the interior.  
  
"He's already signed out and ready to go. You may take as long as you like, you won't be disturbed. If you want refreshments, there's a bell on the table inside. If there's a problem, or if you have a question, ring the bell and someone will come. If everything is satisfactory, Jensen has no luggage, so when you're ready you both can just go." Randy finished speaking as they stopped before a closed door. "He's expecting you. Go right in." Randy opened the door and stepped away, leaving Jared to enter alone, without even an introduction to ease the way. Jared made another mental note about current wisdom on the care and feeding of ceivers.  
  


* * *

  
At the rattle of the door latch, Jensen looked up. And up, at the man who entered the room. Taller than Jensen, he was young--near Jensen's age. He smiled and introduced himself. "Jensen? Hi, I'm Jared. Are you ready to go?"  
  
Jensen wasn't, gods knew he wasn't. But he stood on shaking legs and let Jared usher him out with a gentle hand at his back. Neither of them spoke, and there appeared to be no one about for Jensen to say goodbye to. Just as well. He hadn't gotten to know anyone well enough to want to say goodbye, even if his voice would work right now. They passed through the wooden gate, and as it closed behind them Jensen was swept with a wave of terror. The compound, while a strange place of transition for him, was nonetheless a sort of haven from the rest of the world, and it was closed to him now. He was at the mercy of the man beside him, who remote-keyed the doors of the SUV. Jensen found himself somehow grateful he didn't open Jensen's door for him.  
  
  
Simply stunning, even more so in person. By force of will Jared kept himself from staring at the man he was taking into his care. Masked and concealed in the folds of the tunic and loose pants, the trembling of Jensen's body was betrayed by the edge of a sleeve, the cuff of the pants. Jensen made the clothing look good, but Jared couldn't wait to see that ass in a pair of jeans. Or naked in his bed. He shook off the thought and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Hi, I'm Jared. Are you ready to go?"  
  
Jensen stood. Jared watched him lock his knees to keep from swaying in fright and apprehension. He put a gentle hand to Jensen's shoulder to steer him out the door and down the corridor. The sooner he had Jensen out of here, the better, for him, for Jensen, and for whatever sort of relationship they were going to be able to build together.  
  
As they drove away from the compound, he didn't try to make conversation. That would come later. Jensen appeared somewhat dazed, and Jared would be surprised if he wasn't. Time to start easing Jensen back into reality.  
  
"Are you hungry?" he asked. "We'll have dinner later, at the house. But if you're hungry now, we could stop somewhere. Did they feed you lunch?"  
  
Jensen shook his head, and took a little effort to find his voice. It was the first time Jared had heard him speak, and he liked it. "Couldn't--didn't feel like eating." He shot Jared a sideways look. "'m not really hungry."  
  
Jared didn't push it. "Dinner later, then. You let me know if you get hungry before then."  
  
He indicated the sound system. "Feel free to play something you like. We can argue about it if I hate it," he grinned. Jensen didn't smile in response, but Jared thought he could detect a slight relaxing of the tension that gripped the man as Jensen reached for the controls. He settled for country rock, and quirked an eyebrow at Jared, who nodded. "Yeah. That'll do."  
  
Jensen settled back in his seat, and Jared was gratified to note Jensen's fingers tapping out the rhythm on the leather of the seat. Ten minutes later they pulled into the garage. Jared led Jensen into the house, through the kitchen, the entry hall past the dining and living rooms and up the stairs. Jensen followed him down the hall to the open door giving onto a guest bedroom. A soft-sided suitcase lay on the bed.  
  
"You're in here for now. I had somebody send over some of your clothes. Why don't you get out of those?" Jared kept the sneer out of his voice with an effort. "I feel like playing some basketball. There's a court out back. See if you've got shorts and shoes and stuff."  
  
Jensen stared, both at the comfortable looking but anonymous, obviously unoccupied room, the bed, and at the familiar bag. He walked over and zipped it open, finding his sneakers, socks, and _underwear._ He touched the latter with a fingertip and was embarrassed to feel himself close to tears. "Jeans," he got control of his voice. "I don't see any shorts."  
  
Jared nodded. "Hold up," he said, "Be right back." Jensen nodded, and began removing things from the case and sorting them in piles on the bed.  
  
"Here." A wad of fabric hit Jensen in the back, and he turned to pick a pair of cargoes up off the floor. "They may be a little long, but they should fit okay. Better than playing in jeans. Get changed. I'ma kick your ass," Jared taunted with a dimpled grin and left. Jensen could hear drawers opening and closing in a nearby room. He stood for a moment staring at his familiar things, then in a rush he tore off the vest and tunic, dropped the hated pants and drop-kicked the whole bundle into a far corner of the room. He grabbed boxer briefs and tugged them on, and the cargoes over them, fumbled in the pockets of the bag till he found socks. He threw the slippers into the corner with the tunic and pants, and got his sneakers on fast. He yanked his Led Zeppelin tee off the top of the folded stack and pulled it on. He caught sight of himself in the dresser mirror. The man there looked awfully familiar, and there was an anticipatory grin on his face.  
  
He spun quickly toward the door, and a sensation he'd only lately had to begin getting accustomed to stopped him. Jensen really wanted to play basketball, he wanted to do something _normal_. More, he wanted to play up to his best game, which he couldn't do with his present handicap. He wasn't supposed to, it was one of the new rules--but he'd deal with the consequences later. Jensen quickly went into the en-suite bath, dealt with the problem, and was out again and down the stairs in moments.  
  
Jared was waiting in the dining room off the kitchen. He opened the slider and beckoned Jensen out into the back yard. There was a pool, a not inconsiderable expanse of grass, and a basketball goal and quarter court. Neat, well-kept, nothing really ostentatious, just solidly upper middle-class suburbia. He gasped a bit when the ball Jared threw caught him in the stomach. "Oh, it's on, Stretch."  
  


**FOUR**  


  
Two hours later, both men were flushed and sweaty and breathless from effort and laughter. It hadn't taken long for Jensen's natural competitiveness to overcome the awkwardness of his circumstances. He forgot that Jared was anything more than a new acquaintance, as they fought for possession of the ball, tried increasingly sneaky tricks to steal and trip and impede each other's access to the goal, called each other out on questionable moves, and tried to top the last one. Shoulders, hips, arms, legs, both men were all-in, using every advantage, and learning the other's body language, how to predict what the other would do, beginning to read facial expression and voice inflection as well as the words, to appreciate the other's quick wit, knack for diversion and distraction, and provoking much laughter.  
  
Jared called a halt, and strode off down the length of the house toward a closed door where the building angled in an L to shield the pool from the neighbors' view, calling Jensen after him. "Show you something," he explained. The door was unlocked, and gave onto a small hall. To the left was a large bathroom with three shower stalls, to the right a kitchenette with a full-sized fridge. Jared reached in and snagged two water bottles, tossing one to Jensen as he led into the main room beyond. One wall of mirrors reflected light from high windows on the opposite wall, and the large room held a weight bench with a rack of weights, a treadmill, a resistance machine, and racks of free weights. There was a stationary bike, and a big flatscreen TV on the end wall with game systems on a rack below it. As Jensen surveyed the equipment, Jared pointed out another door. "That leads to the garage, and into the house. Feel free to use this room anytime."  
  
Jensen took another long pull at his water and nodded. "Thanks." And then he had to push. "And the garage? You got room for my truck?"  
  
"Jensen."  
  
He refused to meet Jared's gaze. "'Cause if not, I can just park it in the driveway. If, you know, it's not going to bring down the tone of the neighborhood." He was desperately reaching for humor, knowing what the laws dictated, and still hoping Jared wasn't going to hold him to that.  
  
Jared sighed, and refused to argue. "We can negotiate later on, maybe. You can drive one of mine when we go out, once you've settled in."  
  
Jensen blinked, absorbing his new reality. He wouldn't be driving his own vehicle, because he wasn't allowed to go anywhere outside the house without Jared or an official chaperone. Not allowed.  
  
"Hey," Jared swatted his shoulder and pulled a cell phone from his pocket. "What do you want on your pizza?"  
  
"No anchovies," Jensen responded on automatic. Pizza wasn't high on his list at the moment. He wandered over to the games to see what was there while Jared's voice ran on in the background, ordering toppings and discussing delivery. Jensen, very busy not thinking about anything, was surprised to hear him at his shoulder.  
  
"Half an hour. I've got time to kick your ass at least once more before it gets here." He shoved Jensen toward the door. "Move it, Ackles."  
  
  
The sun had set and the light was going. The outside lights had kicked on to illuminate the court and hoop when Marta beckoned from the house. "Pizza's here." Jensen had fought Jared's every move, even harder than in their initial game, and had given as good as he'd gotten. Their score was tied. Both of them were sweat-soaked, lungs working like bellows, feeling loose and happy and good. And hungry, Jensen realized as his stomach rumbled at the mention of the word "pizza."  
  
Jared scooped a couple of folded towels off a chair where Marta had left them and flung one at Jensen. "Good game, man. Not bad for a shrimp."  
  
"I'm not a shrimp, you goddam yeti," Jensen scowled for effect as he swabbed the wet off his face and the back of his neck. "You're just abnormally tall."  
  
Grinning, Jared hotly denied the "abnormal" part of the accusation and preceded Jensen into the house, both of them trash talking as the scent of pepperoni and tomato drew them toward the kitchen. Jared washed up briefly at the sink and stepped aside to let Jensen do the same, diving into the fridge and coming up with two beers in one hand. Marta had set two places at the breakfast bar, and Jared plunked a bottle down by each plate, popping the cap off his own.  
  
Jensen, already seated, kept his hands on his thighs and just looked at the bottle. "Jared," he hesitated over what to say next.  
  
"My house, my rules, Jensen," Jared said quietly, meeting Jensen's eyes and then occupying himself with the pizza box. "I don't think we need to worry about things like diet right now, do you?" He levered a huge slice of meat-lovers' dripping with cheese onto Jensen's plate. Jensen picked up the beer, popped the top, and downed half of it in one long draught.  
  
  
The conversation never picked up again, but occupied with eating, the silence was surprisingly companionable. Jared fetched them both a second beer, which they took into the living room. There was another flatscreen TV, not as gigantic as the one in the gym, and a DVR and a large built in bookcase full of DVDs. Jensen took a casual look at some of the titles as they talked about movies they'd both seen, or one had and recommended or panned it to the other. Jared booted up the TV and the DVR and went through his regular shows he recorded to watch later, and Jensen nodded. Most of them were his favorites, too. As the evening wound down, full and more relaxed than Jensen had been in weeks, he found himself yawning. When he realized, all the relaxation fell away, and he stiffened in apprehension of what would probably come next.  
  
"I put you in the best guest room," Jared was watching him, and his voice was even and unremarkable. "I'll give you the grand tour tomorrow, and if there's a room you like better, we'll move you in."  
  
Jensen's eyebrows rose in surprise and query, and Jared continued. "I'd like you to have a room of your own: a study, or a den. I've sent for your things--your books, your music. Any art you'd like to hang on the walls, any furniture you're fond of. I'd like to incorporate your things into the whole house, but for now I figure one room at least should feel familiar for you.  
  
"I expect us to share a bedroom soon, but I'd like you to still keep a place for yourself, if you want it. And until you feel comfortable sharing with me, that's where you'll sleep. Is that okay?"  
  
Jensen nodded slowly. It was far more than he had been given to expect.  
  
Jared smiled at him, stood, and took his hand and pulled Jensen to his feet, clapping him twice on the shoulder. "Okay then, time for bed. You look like you're just about out on your feet." He turned Jensen toward the stairs and gave him a little shove. "I'll see you in the morning."  
  
Jensen's eyes almost flooded, his relief and gratitude nearly overwhelmed him. He nodded, and started toward the stairs. "G'night, Jared."  
  
"Jensen." He stopped and waited for the other shoe. "Leave the plug out." He did turn to look at Jared then. "Unless...you want to wear it--"  
  
He shook his head sharply and got out the word, "No."  
  
"Okay. We'll, uh. We'll talk about this stuff tomorrow. Some of it."  
  
Jensen cut a sideways look at him, but Jared wasn't looking at Jensen. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. "I'm new to all this, too," he reminded his ceiver."But--look. I don't have an enema rig. I can get one if you really need it--"  
  
Jensen blushed bright red, but he shook his head, unable to meet Jared's gaze.  
  
Jared nodded. "Okay, we'll talk about that, too. If--well, there's laxatives in the medicine cabinet if you need something." Jared was blushing too, now. "Just so you know."  
  
Jensen nodded again, a tight little acknowledgement, and managed a single word. "'Night," before he hurried toward and up the stairs as though pursued by a bear.  
  
  



	2. More Than Words

** **  
  
  


**FIVE**

  
_Jensen knelt on the padded bench, naked and bent so that his forehead rested on the backs of his hands, fingers clenched tight on the edge of the bench, and tried to stop the trembling of his body.  
  
Randy smoothed a hand over his bare back, from his nape down to his buttocks. With fingers and thumb he spread Jensen's cheeks while the other hand eased in the lubricated nozzle.  
  
"You'll do this once a day." Jensen heard the click of the tubing petcock, and felt the first trickle of water seeping into him. Randy went on in a soothing tone, "Mornings are probably best, but it's important to do this the same time every day. As you become accustomed to it, you might find a schedule of every second day better for you. But that's something you'll need to discover for yourself."  
  
The trembling wouldn't stop, and Jensen's fingers felt like they would tear through the vinyl cover and the padding and into the wood of the bench itself as Randy's quiet, ordinary voice went on._  
  


* * *

  
Jensen wanted to howl his frustration and anger aloud, he wanted to hit something. There had already been days of angry, impotent tears. No doubt more would come, but right now he was wept empty. The click of the lock signaled his door opening and the usual warder standing there. "Visitors," he announced. Jensen wasn't fit for company, but he couldn't stand to be alone. They'd come to discuss him--there was no other topic of discussion between them right now--and he needed to know what was being said, the latest news in their fight to get him out of the hands of the Department of Reproduction. He slipped into the room and took a seat on the sofa beside his mom, tucking into her side as if he were ten, instead of a grown man. His dad nodded from his chair across the coffee table and her arm went around him to snug him in tighter, even while her other hand clutched a damp tissue. There was a fresh box on the end table beside her, and the wastebasket at her feet was half-full.  
  
"They won't acknowledge their lapse in identifying him at twelve, because they say it wasn't their lapse." Arthur Clark's eyebrows lifted to acknowledge Jensen. "Had he been tested, he would have been identified, is their stance." He added another quarter-inch of paper to the stack on the table. "Therefore, the responsibility for failing to present himself for the test, and therefore the failure to determine his status, falls on the family, and on Jensen himself. Repro is generously declining to pursue prosecution on that count, provided Jensen is present for assignment on the designated day."  
  
Alan Ackles' brows drew together in a frown. "Wait. They can prosecute _us_? On what grounds?"  
  
"Attempting to prevent Jensen's determination as a ceiver," Clark replied. "Most parents are happy to see their sons identified. It means they'll be grandparents. There are benefits provided to the families of ceivers, beginning at the time of their induction. Those benefits make a difference to people of lower incomes, as they're intended to help make up for the financial and emotional support a traditionally employed son would provide to his family as he matures."  
  
The Ackles, parents and son, offered little visible reaction to Clark's information. It all seemed so far removed from their experience. "So most families are happy to get the benefits. Most families are happy to know they will have grandchildren, that their ceiver sons will be provided and cared for. For them it's a positive thing.  
  
"But some families still cling to the old ways. They view ceivers as--well, as less than human, abominations and perversions of the way children should come into the world. Other families have very strong paternal lineage, where sons should father sons, and women should bear them. Ceivers are alien to their understanding and beliefs.  
  
"Families with these beliefs do not want to give their sons up to the ceiver program, even if the sons test positive. There have been legal battles. There have also been acts of rebellion."  
  
Jensen's mother sat up a little straighter. "Such as what?"  
  
"Open defiance," Clark answered. "Refusal to surrender the children to Repro."  
  
"What happened?" Alan asked.  
  
"Arrest, prosecution and conviction for breaking the law. Imprisonment for the parents and other family members, even friends involved in trying to hide or remove the child from Repro's reach."  
  
"Prison!" Donna gasped.  
  
Arthur nodded. "Which is why their declining to prosecute is not a negligible thing. They easily could have taken you, Alan, and even Joshua, to court, and the odds are good on conviction for all of you. And Jensen would still end up at Repro."  
  
There was a lull of a few moments as the Ackles family attempted to assimilate this information. Finally, Alan asked, "Are there other avenues of appeal, things we haven't tried yet?"  
  
Clark was slow to answer, and his eyes flicked upward to the suspected listening devices in the room. "There are always other things to try, other approaches. Most of them have already been tried, and almost none of them have succeeded."  
  
"But there have been successes?" Donna was eager.  
  
"Ill-health, mainly," Clark addressed her, then included the two men in his gaze. "Pre-existing conditions that either made the child at-risk to carry a pregnancy to term, to survive it, or to survive giving birth. Or an inherited trait for a disease or condition that would likely be passed on to any offspring."  
  
Neither Alan nor Arthur could help glancing at an obviously robust, though presently wan, Jensen. Donna patted his hand. "There must be something else, Arthur. Our time is running short."  
  
"Not that I've been able to find. I know we're running out of time. I just don't know what else to do. I've exhausted every possibility I can think of, and a few that were suggested to me by other counsel. There's just nothing." He spread his hands in defeat and apology.  
  
"We'll have to send Jensen abroad," Donna spoke up briskly, a new note of purpose in her voice. Jensen started to protest, but she spoke over him. "We have family in Holland, a cousin in France, and Alan's uncles in Ireland. Jensen can go to them, get a fresh start--"  
  
Arthur was shaking his head. "Jensen can't leave these premises. And even if we were able to get him out, his passport has been flagged, he can't leave the country, unless it's in the company and custody of his assigned pere."  
  
"What?" Alan spoke indignantly. "That's ridiculous!"  
  
"It's the law," Arthur was firm, and stern in his need to impress on them the serious nature of the law. "Most countries, even if they don't have a program of their own, respect our laws. A petition will be filed to return Jensen to the US, and the host country will honor it, searching for him as for any other criminal fugitive. If he's caught, anyone who helped hide him will be arrested as well. Jensen will be given into Repro's custody, and I understand there's a several-weeks 'rehabilitation' program to punish the guilty ceiver and eliminate future attempts to avoid his duty. That's one of the functions of this facility."  
  
All the Ackles looked faintly ill as Clark went on. "Furthermore, if any of you were suspected of helping him try to leave, you would be arrested and prosecuted and no doubt convicted and sentenced to prison. Jensen would still go to Repro."  
  
"What if I can escape, and then get out of the country on my own?" Jensen wanted to know. "If I can do it without implicating anybody else, so they can be as surprised and dismayed at my actions as good law-abiding citizens should be? I'll take my chances at hiding well enough to not get caught once I'm out of the country."  
  
Arthur's gaze lifted pointedly to the ceiling, reminding his clients of likely listening ears, before he shrugged and answered. "If they aren't implicated, whether you do manage to get out, or if you're caught, your family will suffer. Your father's business and all family assets could be confiscated. Your brother and his wife might lose their jobs, their home, and everything they own. Your sister's place at university might be brought into question, it could be taken away and given to another student. She will have difficulty finding employment. Even if legal action isn't taken, the family will be under heavy suspicion of being anti-government, and clients and customers will be very cautious about doing business with them. There will be very public scrutiny into every aspect of their lives, both business and personal. Friends and acquaintances will withdraw their public, and maybe private, support in order to retain their own innocence in Repro's eyes.  
The family's reputation will never recover--and that's if they can prove they did not help you leave the country. If they're found guilty of aiding you in avoiding your duty, it's prison, for your dad for sure, probably your brother as well."  
  
"How can they do that, when it's me who'll be breaking the law?"  
  
"The government will say that you couldn't act independently without giving some clue as to your plans. And your family not reporting your plans is enough to convict them in the government's eyes--and in the public eye. They'll play it up in the media, since they don't want other families getting ideas about keeping their sons out of Repro's hands.  
  
He swept them all with a glance, lingering to look into each pair of eyes. "Make no mistake. The Department of Reproduction takes falling population levels very, very seriously. Individuals capable of carrying and giving birth to children are an extremely precious resource, and Repro is not about to let any one of them escape that duty. Those individuals' plans and goals and wishes for their lives simply do not matter, as long as they do live, and produce healthy children."  
  
Donna's face was streaked with tears she didn't bother to wipe away. "But--" she murmured brokenly. "But, my son--" the last word choked off on a sob, and Jensen sat straight, wrapped her tight in his arms, and wiped the tears from her face. "I'll always be your son, Mom. But there doesn't seem to be any way out of this."  
  
"Jensen--"  
  
"Shhh. It's okay. It'll be okay. I promise."  
  
Arthur watched for a moment before he spoke again. "I believe the animosity we have raised by our request for the stay, and the appeal on Jensen's behalf, will be allowed to die down once Jensen has agreed to drop his fight, and to do his duty as Repro sees it. Once he's safely with his pere, and hopefully pregnant soon, this small rebellion will be forgotten. The impact on you, Alan, and Josh, and the rest of the family will be minimal, and soon forgotten. The state is indulgent with her citizens who give her children, and those benefits the families of ceivers identified in adolescence will be extended to the Ackles, as well.  
  
"I don't want their damned _benefits_ ," Alan ground out between his teeth. "I want my son, happy, doing the job he trained to do, that he's good at, living the life he's wanted, that we wanted for him."  
  
Clark's hand closed hard on Alan's shoulder, shaking him just a little. "You have to get past that now. You have to deal with what we have." He turned to Jensen, still comforting his mother.  
  
"Repro has agreed that it would be unkind and ill-advised to place you directly from your family home into the home of your pere without at least some preparation and training. They have agreed to a two-week stay at the Ceiver Home. It's a quiet retreat where you can work on getting your head around your new job, if you want to think of it that way, Jensen. You'll have a personal guide, who will teach you as many of the things ceivers learn in their training as there is time for. And in two weeks, you'll meet your pere."  
  
  


* * *

  
_"Some peres like doing this for their ceivers," Randy said, stroking his hand down Jensen's back as his belly filled. "They view it as a time of closeness and affection. Others simply prefer the ceiver take care of it himself. You'll discover how your own pere feels about it, soon."  
  
Jensen shifted on the bench as the cramps started. Randy stopped the flow, and reached down to massage Jensen's rigid stomach muscles. In a few minutes the cramps eased, and he opened the petcock again and let the water flow. "You'll learn how fast to take the water," he told Jensen. "It seems like it takes forever at first, and you'll want to take it fast and get it done so you can get on with your day. But you learn to ease up, take it slower, learn to enjoy the sensations. It's a part of your routine, you might as well enjoy it."  
  
Jensen's hands were cramping, he was clinging so ferociously to the edge of the bench. The trembling of his body as he bit back tears had grown stronger, and as the water filled him, distending his abdomen, cramping, he couldn't keep back a sob.  
  
"Jensen?" Randy was suddenly kneeling at the head of the bench, staring into his face.  
  
"Please. Stop." He couldn't manage more than a hoarse whisper without completely breaking down. "What did I do? I'll be good, I promise--"  
  
"Oh Jensen," Randy's hand was in his hair, gripping tight to shake his head a little, with seeming affection. "You mustn't think of this as punishment. You haven't done anything wrong, not at all. It's just-- Here. That's enough." He stood and turned off the water, returning to kneel by Jensen's head. "Now you just rest there for a few minutes and then you can let it out.  
  
"This isn't punishment, Jensen. This is the way we manage our evacuation. We always know what time we go. And we are always clean and ready to accept our pere's attentions. After a few weeks, you won't have a solid evacuation again. You'll never suffer with constipation, and any time you need an exam, you'll be empty and ready. That's important when you're pregnant--both the constipation and the exam-ready part. And your pere will definitely appreciate your being clean. It's all for the best, trust me."  
  
Randy smiled and patted Jensen's head. "I've had seven kids. If anybody should know, it's me. Okay, I think you're done."  
  
Slowly and gently, Randy helped Jensen off the bench. He was unable to stand upright, but shuffled bent over with tiny sideways steps to the toilet, managing to get halfway down to the seat before his sphincter let go and everything gushed out of him.  
  
"I'll just leave you to finish up," Randy told him. "I'll be back in a few minutes," and left Jensen to sit doubled over, with waves of cramps followed by gouts of watery waste and blurts of gas. He couldn't recall ever having been as miserable, or feeling so humiliated. His eyes darted furtively around the room and he suddenly realized he was looking for something sharp, edged, pointed, that he could turn against himself to end this horror.  
  
"Can't." He gritted out the word, and finished the thought unspoken. _ Against the law. My family would suffer the consequences.  
  
_He must have sat on the toilet for ten minutes or more before Randy came back and urged him to his feet. "But I'm not finished."  
  
"I think you are. You just have to get used to the feeling." Randy handed him a thick, fluffy towel and pointed him toward the shower. Jensen ran the water as hot and as hard as he could stand it, wanting to scald away everything he was feeling. But eventually he had to emerge, and as he stepped over the shower's threshold, a large watery fart and a trickle of water down the back of one leg surprised him. He fled back into the shower for another few minutes.  
  
Randy was there when he got out again, and laid a stack of clothing on the countertop. Jensen couldn't be any more naked than Randy had already seen him, so he flung the towel over a nearby hook and reached for the clothing. Something seemed to be missing, though. "Underwear?"  
  
"Oh, you get very used to going without," Randy smiled. "It's so confining. Unless your pere wants you dressed for some purpose, you'll wear the tunic, pants, and vest. It's loose and comfy. Has lots of room for an expanding middle." The man actually smiled, and waited for Jensen to step into the pants. They were very loose, with enough fabric to resemble a skirt, and tied with a drawstring. The tunic slipped over the head and had sleeves to the wrists. The vest was open in front and fell to his knees. Jensen felt like he was swimming in these clothes. "Very nice," Randy said, pointing to a pair of fabric slippers, flat-heeled and soft. Jensen stepped into them. "Now, come with me. One more part of your wardrobe, and we'll get into some lessons before lunch."  
  
He led Jensen back to his room, small but comfortable, and large enough to hold a bed, a writing table and chair, and a small nightstand and lamp by the bed.  
  
"On the bed," Randy told him. "On your hands and knees." Jensen, beginning to relax from the shower, and having clothes on again, albeit odd and ugly clothes, began to tremble again at the instruction. What now? What the fuck now, he wondered, doing as he'd been told. He hadn't been asked to undress, and he didn't. Randy opened the drawer of the nightstand and retrieved a couple of items. Before Jensen could ask, Randy untied the drawstring and pulled Jensen's pants down to lie puddled on the bed at his knees. He heard the click of a bottle cap, and felt slick fingers at his entrance. He clenched his cheeks together and bucked away, coming up off one knee to look Randy in the face."Whoa! What--?"  
  
"Relax, Jensen. I'm not going to hurt you. This is just another part of who we are. Part of your training." He met Jensen's gaze, and while his expression was kind, it was also implacable, and Jensen surrendered, repositioning himself on his knees. Randy's fingers circled his opening, smoothing, gently pressing. The tip of one slick finger pressed against the furled entrance and dipped inside.  
  
"Uh!"  
  
"Easy, Jensen. Just go with it." The finger was pressing inside now, the first joint, the second. The finger started to move in and out, and it felt really, really weird. Jensen kept himself still by sheer will, but he had already had enough adventures today involving his ass, and this just--aaah! Now there were two fingers pressing in and drawing out, and--what was he doing, it felt like he was trying to stretch Jensen open--  
  
"Stop. Please, stop--" Jensen tried to pull away, but Randy's hand on his back held him still.  
  
"Have you never had sex with a man, Jensen?"  
  
He shook his head, definitely. "No."  
  
"Never? You a virgin?"  
  
"I like girls," he gasped. "I date--girls. Not a virgin--aaah!" Randy hit a spot inside him that made him jump.  
  
"Feel good?"  
  
"I--I don't know. It's weird. It feels weird. Can we--can you, will you stop, now? Ugh. I--"  
  
Randy pulled his fingers out, but he didn't stop. Jensen could hear as he applied more lube. He re-inserted his fingers, this time adding a third, and starting to twist them every time he moved out, and again on the in-stroke. He managed to brush that spot inside Jensen every third or fourth stroke, and it made Jensen twitch. He was covered in sweat, and panting now, and he realized with some embarrassment that he was hard. Randy's fingers withdrew, and Jensen heard the cap of the lube again, and something hard and blunt and cold was rubbing against him, slipping on the coating of lube. It pressed against his opening, gaping now from the attentions of Randy's fingers, but the object was larger than even Jensen's stretched opening. The pressure didn't ease off, though, but kept steady, and he could feel his ass giving way, giving up, allowing the object to penetrate him. He bucked and tried to move away, tried to object, to find his voice, to say stop, to say no, but no wasn't a possibility. This was happening, it wasn't going to stop, it wasn't going away. This was Jensen's new reality, and he held himself in place, arms locked, head down, legs trembling, as the plug pushed in, rearranging his guts and making a place for itself, and settled into place.  
  
"There," Randy said, patting him on the ass. "If you'd begun your prep when you were twelve like most of us, you'd have started with something you hardly noticed and gradually worked up. You've only got a couple of weeks, so we need to get you stretched out, get you ready to accept your pere, so lovemaking will be sweet from the beginning, and not painful."  
  
He helped Jensen to stand, and pulled up the pants, leaving Jensen to tie the knot with fumbling fingers.  
  
"You need to wear that all the time. You'll take it out in the mornings when you have your enema, and put it back in after your shower. In a couple of days we'll go up a size. We can get another size or two in you by the end of your time with us." He patted Jensen on the shoulder, and turned him toward the door. "Come on," he smiled. "Time for breakfast." _  
  


  
**SIX**  


  
"How do you take your coffee?"  
  
They stood at the counter of a local shop, Jared having ordered a super-giant extra-fat, extra-light, extra-sweet concoction that had little relation to actual coffee. His raised eyebrow and expression of genuine inquiry led Jensen to believe he was serious. "Um. Large? Black, two sugars."  
  
Jared nodded at the barista, and the two of them moved down the counter to the register. While Jared paid, Jensen reflected on his last several weeks without caffeine and the likely result of a dump of black coffee on his unsuspecting system. And decided, fuck it. The smell alone had kicked up his former addiction. When the cups were handed over, Jensen took his double-handed, just feeling the heat of the cup in his hands, before ripping off the plastic lid and inhaling the gorgeous scent.  
  
Jared smirked. "You gonna stand here and make love to your coffee? Or can we walk a little bit?" Jensen could no more restrain his beatific smile than he could stop breathing. He sipped cautiously as they moved toward the shop's door, following in Jared's wake.  
  
  
Jensen had awakened alone in his big, soft bed, stretched in comfort while he listened for sounds of life in the house. Hearing a murmur of voices from downstairs, he'd had a quick shower, dressed in his own clothes, and gone down. Jared stood munching on a banana, talking with Marta. His eyes lit up at the sight of Jensen, and he two-pointed the empty banana peel into the sink over Marta's shoulder. "Push the button, Max!" he quoted, waggling his eyebrows at the housekeeper. Jensen smirked at the movie reference as Marta glowered and shook a finger at him in mock annoyance before she used the finger to flip the disposal switch and dispatch the banana peel.  
  
"You up for a walk before breakfast?" he asked, and Jensen was quick to nod. "There's this coffee shop nearby," he grinned. "Fabulous bagels, all the toppings you could want, and some you probably don't. Or a little farther away there's an excellent diner--breakfast all day, along with the usual soup, sandwiches, and Blue Plate Specials. Which'll it be?"  
  
"Diner." Jensen was definite. Breakfast sounded awesome. And the farther he could walk, the longer he was outside and away from the house, the better.  
  
Jared's answering grin was wide. "Definitely. Coffee first, though."  
  
Now, with coffee in hand, they took a route through a park, enjoying the sunshine and sipping, Jared with a smudge of whipped cream on his lip, Jensen with his eyes closing in near-nirvana on occasion.  
  
"I figured we need to talk," Jared began, not breaking stride. "I know a bit about you," he cut a glance at Jensen. "You can look at the info packet Repro sent when I first got notice of your assignment, if you want."  
  
Jensen wasn't sure that was okay with Repro, but so far with Jared he'd had beer and coffee, and those definitely weren't okay with Repro. "But I thought you might want a little intel on me. Does that--is that-- I mean, do you--?"  
  
Jensen met Jared's eyes with a slight smile. "Good idea, Jared. Thanks."  
  
Jared breathed out a little relieved sigh. "Okay! Well, do you want to ask questions, or should I just start babbling? I have to warn you, I babble a lot. About a lot of things. About most things, actually. And ramble. I ramble a lot, get off-subject, lost in conversational thickets, no breadcrumbs back, you know?"  
  
Jensen quirked an eyebrow at him and gave a little shake of his head. "Go ahead. You tell me what you want me to know, and I'll ask if I want more in-depth stuff, or specific answers. That okay?"  
  
The dimples made another appearance. For a guy of such intimidating stature, the dimples reduced him to about twelve. "Okay, right."  
  
Middle child, Jared told him, elder brother, younger sister. "Like you, right?" Jensen nodded, and Jared continued. Happy childhood, college, good job with an architectural firm. "I'll show you some of my drawings and plans, if you want." Jensen did want. Anything that would give him insight into the man beside him was good.  
  
"I discovered in middle school that I liked boys. I mean, girls are cool, but it was other guys that turned me on." Jensen nodded, unsure what that meant for the two of them. "I know you're straight, Jensen. I--" Jared broke off, stopped walking. "I'm really sorry about the way all this happened for you."  
  
Jensen had no idea how to respond. He took refuge in his coffee cup, staring into the black depths as though seeking wisdom there. Or just an answer, really. Jared crouched a little, peering into Jensen's face until he was forced to meet Jared's eyes. "I know this is hard. I'm sorry. I have--well." Jared didn't finish his thought before he straightened, turned, and resumed walking. Jensen reluctantly fell into step beside him.  
  
"I was so excited when I heard I'd been assigned a ceiver. I really had very little hope I'd ever be a dad, and I think I'll be an awesome one." He smiled, reminiscently. "I had a great childhood, wonderful parents. And I think I'm ready to pass on the care and the love that they used raising us. But I really never expected it to happen.  
  
"My brother's wife is fertile, they have two little girls, so it's not as if the family line will be extinguished in my generation, you know? And my sister may be fertile as well; no way to know till she's married and settled. But it seemed too much to ask for the guy who was never going to marry a woman to hope for kids.  
  
He turned and bent a brilliant smile on Jensen. "And then, like a gift from the gods, there was you. I was so excited! I called my folks, and they were overjoyed at the news." He grinned at Jensen again. "They can't wait to meet you, they're so excited." Jensen no more than nodded, but Jared went on.  
  
"This system, of pere and ceiver, I'd always just accepted it, you know? I know you missed your testing, but when you came back to school after you'd been sick, did you miss the boys who'd been identified and removed from your classes? Did you wonder about them? I had a couple of good friends, and I did, I missed them. They still lived near me, but we didn't walk home from school together any more. And whenever I went over to see if they could come play, they always had something else to do. It was like I'd been left behind, sort of." He paused and waited for Jensen to answer.  
  
"I guess there were a couple I sort of noticed were missing. Everybody knew guys got 'chosen' for something and pulled out of our classes. Like everybody else, I took it for granted. I'd been sick and was busy trying to catch up on work I'd missed. I wasn't close friends with any of those guys, so I just didn't really think any more about it." He finished off the dregs of his coffee in one long draught, and looked around for a trashcan. "I guess I should have, huh?" he asked ruefully.  
  
Jared stared at the long expanse of Jensen's neck, the way his adams apple moved when he swallowed, and the haunted look in those green eyes when he spoke. "You had no way of knowing," Jared told him. "It's really shitty, the way this worked out for you." Jared thought for a moment before he said, "Jensen, I'm selfish enough that I can't be sorry you're here. But for what it's worth, I am sorry that it happened the way it did."  
  
Jensen cocked his head and regarded him sideways. "Not your fault, man. No need to apologize."  
  
Jared waited a moment longer, thinking through some things he still wanted to say. Jensen's question brought him back to the present, though. "You did say something about breakfast, right?"  
  
  
  


**SEVEN**

  
They didn't talk during breakfast, other than, "Pass the sugar," and "You gonna eat that last hash brown?" Over a final cup of coffee--Jensen figured he could sleep…later. Sometime. Because he had missed coffee, and he didn't know how long a lapse in deprivation Jared was going to allow--Jared began to talk again.  
  
"I told you I was excited when I found out I'd been assigned a ceiver." Jensen nodded and Jared went on. "I knew about the pere and ceiver program, everybody does. I have friends, man and wife, and she's sterile. They have three kids with their ceiver, and they all seem very happy. It's not something I gave a lot of thought to, just..."  
  
"The way things are," Jensen nodded. "I'd never really given it much thought. I mean, I'd sort of planned on finding the right girl, getting married, just taking things as they came. If we had kids together, great. If not, and we really wanted kids, I had thought of possibly requesting a ceiver, if that was the only way we could have them." The expression on his face was bleak and self-mocking. "Guess that wish came true, huh? Be careful what you wish for."  
  
Jared nodded, accepting the sadness lurking below Jensen's apparent resignation. He was also a little gratified that Jensen had brought up his former expectations naturally in conversation. Perhaps Jensen was coming to accept things as they were now, and maybe even Jared as a friend, better than Jared had hoped.  
  
"Well, when I got the news, I expected a ceiver who had been ID'd at the usual time, had gone through the years of training and education. I didn't think a lot about it until I got your info packet." Jared drained his cup and signaled the waitress for the check. Jensen waited till she'd left the check and walked away.  
  
"I'm sorry you got a dud, Jared."  
  
Jared made a rude noise and counted out bills enough for the meal and a generous tip and left them on the table with the check.  
  
"Not a dud, Jen. Far from it." Outside again, they headed toward a little shopping area, glancing in windows as they passed, pulling focus a little from the seriousness of the discussion. "I know you're straight. And you're probably freaked at the thought of having sex with me--with a man. But--" He steered them around a corner and into a walking path that led back through the park.  
  
"I'd just accepted that having sex with a ceiver was going to be easy and uncomplicated, that we'd get on with business and have kids and have a happy, settled life.  
  
"But after I knew about you and, well, how everything happened, I realized that I like men. I like guys. I'm happiest when I'm with somebody with similar interests and abilities, somebody who can challenge me, physically, mentally, intellectually. Most ceivers are compliant and subservient and yielding. They're submissive--they're trained to be. I can live with that because, well, guy. But almost not a guy, you know?" He shot a sideways glance at Jensen, searching for a reaction, wanting to see how far he could push this, how receptive Jensen was to the whole concept, and where he should step back and not push. At least not right away.  
  
Bemused, Jensen gave a little nod.  
  
"So really, I'm just as happy it's you," Jared said, still gauging Jensen's reaction. "I've realized that, given a choice, I don't want somebody who's had the maleness trained out of him. And god, Jensen, you must know you're attractive."  
  
He grinned a little to see the blush come up beneath the freckles. "Girls must have fallen all over you in school--probably boys too, you just didn't notice."  
  
"I noticed," Jensen shot him a direct glance, and looked away again. "I just wasn't interested. I guess I shut them down without thinking about it. And up until junior year of high school I was a dorky, funny-looking geek. So there wasn't so much falling over me as there was me tripping over my own feet."  
  
"The point I'm trying to make is," Jared dragged the talk back on point. "I find you very attractive. Beyond that, what I know of you after two days, I like a lot. I think we have a chance of building something good between us, and I'd like to really give that a shot. Take advantage of the situation and be partners, rather than just pere and ceiver."  
  
"Exactly what are you talking about, Jared?" Jensen's expression was muted, unreadable. Jared was suddenly sure he wanted to know Jensen well enough to read Jensen's emotions easily.  
  
"Instead of the typical pere-ceiver relationship, I'd like us to try and be a couple. Partners, life partners, with as equal a say in things as we can have."  
  
"Jared..."  
  
"I know. You believed you were going to have this kind of relationship with a woman, and I'm sorry you were robbed of that. It's cruel, but I honestly can't see how that's ever going to happen for you now. But I'm offering you something similar, instead of a life for which you haven't been prepared at all."  
  
Jensen didn't answer, and Jared really would rather he didn't, right now. "Think about it. We can talk about it later, I'd like that. But you need to give it some thought.  
  
"Meanwhile, there are things Repro expects, and some of them are non-negotiable. Because your training was so late and so abbreviated, I think you probably found some of them shocking and intrusive. I'd like to talk about some of those things, okay?"  
  
"Like coffee?" Jensen suggested, putting off discussing the worse things.  
  
"And beer, and stuff like that," Jared nodded. "I don't know how much reading and study you've done on ceiver anatomy and the reasons and necessity for things like the regular enemas?" Jensen shook his head, unwilling to speak up. "Well, I've done some research, and I talked to my physician about it, and I think, unless you want to continue the practice, it's okay to skip it.  
  
"You'll need to do a small flush before your medical exams, and we'll see how things go when you're pregnant," Jared noted the shudder that ran through Jensen at the mention of the word, but chose not to acknowledge it. Later. They'd deal with that later. "But until then, I'm okay with you going without, if you are."  
  
Jensen nodded.  
  
"I see no reason to deprive you of beer with your pizza and coffee with your breakfast," Jared continued. "At least until we're actively trying for a baby, or you're pregnant." Jensen looked away, wouldn't meet Jared's eyes. "Is that okay with you? Or do you want to stick to not having either, along with some of the other dietary requirements Repro insists on? Is it easier to give it all up now, or wait till there's a reason?"  
  
He saw the convulsive swallow before Jensen mastered his voice. "I--no. Let's wait, since that's okay with you."  
  
Jared nodded, smiling. "Okay, then. Coffee and beer it is!" He searched for Jensen's answering smile, and was rewarded, with a small one. "I will suggest that you not consume mass quantities, and it might be best if you only indulge when I'm around."  
  
At Jensen's puzzled look, he explained, "Easier for me to claim the empties, right? Should anybody happen by."  
  
The smile grew a little wider. "Yeah." Jensen's eyes met his. "Thanks, Jared. Really. I don't know what to say." He sighed, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "It's. Well, it's more than I thought this was going to be. So thank you."  
  


**EIGHT**  


  
That night after Marta's fried chicken, potato salad, green beans and roasted corn, Jared challenged Jensen to Call of Duty. "I'm the high score of all time, baby!" he bragged, setting up the controllers and tossing one to Jensen.  
  
"You think so," Jensen scoffed.  
  
"I know so," Jared smirked as the game scoreboard came up. "Read it and weep."  
  
"You're going down."  
  
Jared's smirk broadened. "Bring it."  
  
A couple of hours of battle, side by side on the couch, coffee table littered with empty beer bottles, bags of cheetos, and a big popcorn bowl, with much elbowing and fierce competition, yelling at each other and laughing at each other's failures, Jensen whooped as his name hit the top of the scoreboard. Jared punched him in the bicep, frowned ferociously, and threw down his controller, before the dimples broke through and he rose to his full height and stretched, arms over his head till his spine creaked, baring a strip of naked belly between his shirt hem and the waistband of his jeans. He dropped his arms, rotating his shoulders and beamed at Jensen.  
  
"Cookies and milk? Or ice cream?" he asked.  
  
"What kind of cookies?" Jensen wanted to know. "And what kind of ice cream?" He hauled himself to his feet and helped Jared snag longneck empties between his fingers and grabbed the empty bags while Jared got the popcorn bowl, and they trooped into the kitchen. Bags in the trash, bottles in recycling, bowl in the dishwasher, Jared pulled a lidded plastic container and a couple of packages of cookies from a cabinet while Jensen foraged in the freezer. He emerged with three cartons of ice cream and set them on the counter with the cookies.  
  
Jared pointed at another overhead cabinet. "Bowls. Spoons in the drawer over there," and Jensen set two of each on the counter. Jared pulled a scoop from another drawer, and the two of them settled on stools at the counter while Jared peeled the lid off the plastic container. "Marta's chocolate chip peanut butter cookies," he offered the container to Jensen with an air of presenting gold. One bite, and Jensen was ready to agree with him. They scooped and munched companionably, feeling no need for conversation. When they were done, Jensen rinsed the bowls and spoons and put them in the dishwasher while Jared put away the food and wiped down the counter. Finished, he snagged an arm around Jensen's neck, pulling him in for a loud, smacking kiss on the temple before he released him with a grin. "Need to check the doors. 'Night, Jensen."  
  
Jensen watched him check the sliders and the front door before he went off in the direction of the garage to check things there. "'Night," he called after Jared as he started up the stairs.  
  
  
Next morning, Jared was in the pool when Jensen came down. Jensen watched him through the glass as Jared stroked from one end of the pool and back, water gleaming off working muscles. He opened the slider, and Jared finished his lap before he stood and wiped the water from his eyes.  
  
"I left a suit out for you in the bathroom," he nodded toward the ell of the house. "Come on in!"  
  
Jensen nodded, and went to change. Jared hauled himself out of the pool and scooped up a bottle as Jensen approached. "Turn around."  
  
"Man--" Jensen started to protest, but Jared's warm hand full of cooler sunscreen lotion met the skin of his back. He shivered at the temperature contrast as Jared rubbed the stuff over his shoulders, down his arms, down the middle of his back and out over his ribs, all the way down to the waistband of the trunks. "Turn around."  
  
Jensen turned, summoning up an expression of stubborn protest for Jared, who snorted softly and carefully rubbed lotion on his face, going delicately around his eyes, over his forehead, down his nose, cheeks, and chin, before squirting another big dollop into his palm and slapping it onto Jensen's chest. "Rub it in. You're so fair, don't want your delicate, pasty skin to burn," he taunted with a grin as he used the last of it to rub over Jensen's shoulders and down his arms.  
  
They horsed around in the pool for an hour, chasing and ducking each other, slapping water fights, and when Jensen started swimming laps, Jared stroked alongside, pacing him. The last few laps were a race, and while Jensen sank into the form he'd learned and used the fancy turn and kickoff he'd perfected, Jared's longer arms gave him the advantage. They bobbed at the side of the pool, a wide grin on Jared's face. "Nice," he got out, gasping a little for breath. "State Champion, senior year of high school. Most can't keep up with me." Jensen sent a half-hearted slap of water his way and hauled himself out, dripping.  
  
"Coffee," he pleaded, wiping himself down with one of the towels Jared had brought out, wrapping and tucking it around his waist. "Tell me there's coffee."  
  
Marta had brunch waiting when they were showered and dressed: Eggs to order, bacon, toast, pancakes and three kinds of syrup, cut fruit, and of course, coffee. When they were finished and replete, Jared pushed away from the counter, thanking Marta for the feast. Jensen echoed him.  
  
"I need to check my email and maybe handle a few things from work. Come on back to my office," he invited, and Jensen followed. The room was painted dark green, the furniture was stained dark as well: bookcases full of well-worn volumes, a sculpture that looked like some kind of award on the credenza behind the desk, a side table beside an armchair, and a coffee table before a small sofa. The desk and side table looked old, valuable, well cared-for, and Jensen said so. "My grandfather's," Jared's hand stroked the desktop. "My mom contributed the table, it came from her family."  
  
The baseboard, crown molding, and millwork around the windows were stained dark instead of painted, and there was an oriental rug on the hardwood floor. The upholstered pieces were done in muted patterned fabrics rather than the leather Jensen would have expected, and there were framed architectural studies on the walls. One large painting faced the desk, a landscape falling away toward a pond and trees beyond. Jared saw Jensen gazing at it. "My grandpop's place," he smiled. "We swam in that pond, and fished. Never caught anything, though. I'm not sure there ever were fish in that pond."  
  
An old-fashioned wooden drafting table stood by a window, a jointed-arm lamp clamped to its surface. "May I?" Jensen asked, and moved to look at the drawing that lay on the table at Jared's nod. The building emerging from lines on the paper was impressive: three floors, with a glass panel centered in the front wall that soared from ground level to the gothic-reminiscent arched point of the roof.  
  
"That's the new concert center for the university here in town. I'm bidding for the job." He shrugged. "The rest of campus is Georgian, red brick with white columns and paneled doors, mullioned windows. Very old money, solid, respectable."  
  
"Staid," Jensen offered, and Jared nodded.  
  
"I want to keep this in harmony with that sensibility, but also turn toward a more modern attitude. It's an arts center, so it needs to reach for something beyond what they already have."  
  
"Expand their horizons," Jensen was nodding. "I like it," he peered at the drawing a little closer. "For whatever my opinion's worth." He glanced up to see Jared's dimples in full array.  
  
"Thanks. I hope the committee feels the same way." Jared booted up the computer tucked under his desk and waited for the monitor to come to life as he sat in the aerochair behind the desk. He reached behind him, retrieved a leather bag and withdrew a laptop, passing it over to Jensen. "Here. I need to check email and check in with work. You want to use this?"  
  
This was another thing Repro forbade. No phone calls, no visits, no computer access for the first thirty days after entering his new home. He studied Jared for a moment, the man's head lowered, his attention on the flickering screen in front of him. "You sure about this, man?"  
  
Jared looked up. "Just--check your email, read the news. Hell, play Bejeweled if you want to--just keep it on mute. I need about an hour here. If you don't want the laptop, go watch TV or read or something, okay?"  
  
"Yeah. Okay. Thanks." Jensen took the laptop and retreated to the armchair, putting his feet up on the matching ottoman before opening up the computer and switching it on.  
  
His password for his work account still worked, but there were no emails in his inbox. Jensen wondered if his dad had kept the account hoping Jensen could eventually return to work, if he'd forgotten about it in all the rest of the uproar, or just because he was unable to finally let go. Jensen stared at the screen for a few minutes before postponing the decision to delete the link and the icon for that account. His personal email contained surprisingly few messages, a couple from his sister, several from Jason and Chris, a couple from Steve, a few from his other friends, all dated within the last two weeks. He just wasn't ready to read them yet, and he left them unopened. He checked the news feed and settled in to read about the world outside his own personal concerns.  
  
  
They went to a movie that afternoon, a Bruce Willis flick. Jared bought out the candy counter and a huge bucket of popcorn, two bonus-refill vat-sized sodas, and they found seats in the rear of the theater. Jensen found himself relaxing as the mayhem escalated onscreen. Jared's presence beside him had become natural, ordinary, and the warmth of his body, the depth of his chuckle or the shout of his laughter were familiar and far from startling. When a large hand came down on his knee at a tense moment, gripping tight before easing and lifting away, Jensen didn't flinch. And when Jared's body shifted to lean against him when he whispered a dirty tag to one of Willis' lines, Jensen guffawed, but didn't pull away from the contact. Neither did Jared. They emerged into twilight, loose, relaxed, a little giddy from the noise and the stunts and the laughter.  
  
"There's a place that serves the best lasagna in town," Jared said, his stomach rumbling audibly despite having consumed a fistful of twizzlers, two-thirds of a bucket of popcorn and two or three candy bars. "You up for it?"  
  
"Lead the way," Jensen answered. The lasagna was superb, as were the garlic-buttered breadsticks, the fresh green salad scattered with chilled boiled shrimp, and the New York style cheesecake that followed. "Just push me out the door and roll me home," he said to Jared as they rose to leave.  
  
In the garage at home, once the door had lowered, Jared came around the car as they headed into the house and snaked an arm about Jensen's neck, pulling him close. His other hand came up to capture Jensen's jaw and hold him still while Jared kissed him, a soft, dry press of lips that surprised Jensen enough for him to stand still for. As he started to pull back, to speak, Jared smiled, stroking Jensen's bottom lip with the ball of his thumb before removing his hand. He hugged just a little tighter for a second or two before releasing Jensen and preceding him into the house.  
  
  
Jensen had never had a distaste for being touched by people he knew and liked. There was the usual rough and tumble with his brother and sister growing up, pushing and shoving with the boys he played with, either on baseball and soccer teams, or in pickup football and basketball games after school. High school and college were more ground for physical contact, and the truth was, Jensen was used to it, it was familiar. So being surrounded by Jared's physicality was nothing new. And it took awhile to notice as the touches became different. They lingered longer, they weren't as rough, and there was an affection in them he found himself responding to. After the harrowing weeks he'd lived through, it was a comfort to sit sprawled beside Jared on the couch, the warmth of contact at shoulder, arm, hip and thigh as they battled for onscreen supremacy or laughed their way through another Jackass movie. It was one such evening, full of beer and laughter and sleepy camaraderie, when Jared hooked an arm about Jensen's neck to pull him in, the other hand moving up to cup the back of Jensen's head as he kissed him, deeply, tongue seeking entrance. Jensen, relaxed and sleepy, didn't move away or protest. He opened sweetly to Jared's entreaty, and Jared, reining in his triumph, proceeded to slowly, gently, thoroughly kiss the hell out of him. When he'd finished, Jensen still leaned trustingly against him, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as though in further invitation.  
  
Jared couldn't resist. He pushed Jensen back on the couch to lie on the cushions piled against the upholstered arm, and followed, still nipping at and giving small kisses to those soft, lush lips. "Jared," Jensen murmured, and Jared kissed his name from Jensen's lips as he flipped open Jensen's belt buckle and eased down the zipper of his jeans. Slipping his hand inside, he cupped the bulge he found there, noting the dampness soaking the front of Jensen's briefs.  
  
Jensen groaned and bucked up against Jared's hand, and Jared left off kissing him to mouth at the damp cotton before he pulled it down enough to free Jensen's dick and balls. Jensen gasped and rolled his hips a little. Jared pinned him down with a forearm low across his belly and sucked the head into the heat of his mouth.  
  
"Jared!"  
  
He pulled off and licked a stripe up the length. "Shhh, baby. Let me." Before he could be denied, Jared closed his lips around the straining cock, and sucked gently, while his fingers rolled Jensen's balls, and explored the skin behind them. He desperately wanted to rub and probe at Jensen's furled opening, but he restrained himself--that would come soon. Now he had to make this good for his ceiver, and make it last as long as possible.  
  
  
The last time anybody had touched Jensen with passion had been a cute redhead who'd sat up front at the last gig they'd played before England.They'd taken their time exploring each others' bodies, learning what made the other gasp and cry out, press closer, seeking contact, pressure, friction, learning the best spots to tease and torment, and the ones to avoid. Jensen had gotten her number, and had definitely planned to call, once he got back from the tour. Since that night, Jensen had been so full of apprehension and fear he hadn't even thought of touching himself. Only Randy--  
  
\--and he did not want to think about that. Caught in breathless waves of pleasure and excitement, he didn't want to think about anything. He gave himself over to his physical sensations and just let go of everything else.  
  
Jared laved Jensen's cock and his balls with his tongue, learning every vein and dip and dimple in the pale skin, inhaling the gorgeous scent that was the essence of his ceiver. He sucked in the pretty cock, nibbling at the slit and then swallowing head and shaft till the blunt tip bumped his throat, then pulled off, slowly, pressing hard against the vein with the flat of his tongue until he could nip at the frenum. Jensen moaned and rolled his hips, eyes closed, head turning side to side as if seeking escape--or the source of his pleasure. Jared wanted badly to talk, to tell Jensen how gorgeous he was, how hot, how unspeakably, devastatingly hard Jared was falling for him, but he kept silent. Whatever spell Jensen was in right now, Jared wanted him there. Wanted him pliant, accepting, wanting more. Speech, and the sound of Jared's voice, might bring Jensen back to reality, a place where Jensen was not so willing a participant. And it would be difficult to get this mood back.  
  
He sucked harder, eased off and leaned lower to suck one of Jensen's balls into his mouth, rolled it with his tongue and let it free only to take in its twin. He circled Jensen's cock with his hand and sucked at the head, feeling Jensen's response growing, intense, and Jensen bucked, his thighs clenching as he spurted into Jared's willing mouth, once, twice, half a dozen times. Jared swallowed it all, and tenderly licked the oversensitized cock clean. Finally, he laid his head on Jensen's belly to feel his breathing and heartbeat slow.  
  
It was a minute, or two or three later, when Jared felt a light touch on his hair, and then Jensen's hand settled there, petting him. Jared grinned, and couldn't help raising his head to look up the length of Jensen's body to his face, filled with happiness that Jensen's features were relaxed and calm, a smile hovering about his mouth.  
  
"What about you?" his ceiver asked, and Jared shook his head. He shifted so that his crotch met Jensen's bare foot, so he could feel the sticky wetness through Jared's jeans.  
  
"Already taken care of," he grinned. Jensen stretched a little, getting more comfortable on the couch and under Jared. They lay that way a little while, before Jared peeled off and stood, itchy in his sticky underwear, and pulled Jensen to standing, too. "Bed, Jen," he instructed, planting a kiss on Jensen's forehead and pulling him toward the stairs. As Jensen began to climb, Jared did his nightly security check and then followed him upstairs for his own quick shower and bed. He paused at the door of Jensen's room. Regret that his own bed waited, empty, was tempered with the success of tonight's step forward.  
  
  



	3. More Than Words

** **

  
**NINE**   


  
Afternoon sun streamed through the windows of Jared's bedroom. A long run in the pre-dawn before breakfast, and then a couple of hours in the weight room had left them both pleasantly tired. They'd taken their time over lunch, and then Jared had bribed Jensen into showering together with the promise of a blowjob. It had been one of his best to date, Jared thought with some pride. White suds and cascading water sliding off shoulders rounded with muscle, off biceps and solid pecs and abs and a glorious ass, off skin freckled by sun and paler unmarked places the sun never touched was inspiration even beyond what he'd dreamed of, until now. He licked the remnants of Jensen's come from the corner of his lips and grinned up into eyes gone half-mast and sated, and stood to support his lover on knees gone soft while he rinsed off the last of the soap. He toweled a pliant Jensen dry and led him unresisting to Jared's big bed, freshly made with ludicrously high thread-count white Egyptian cotton sheets and a pile of pillows. Green eyes blinked up at him sleepily, and Jared leaned down and planted a quick kiss on soft lips before slipping beneath the covers himself, and spooning up behind Jensen. In moments, soft snores told him Jensen was asleep. A few more minutes later Jared followed him.  
  
  
He woke first, to sunlight striping the bedclothes and lending a glow to the skin that wasn't covered. He pulled the covers down and gazed at Jensen in a way he'd not had the chance to do before now. There was nothing about him that wasn't beautiful, wasn't perfect. Jared's gaze traveled up the strong legs, the flat stomach and perfectly proportioned chest, the collarbones he wanted to lick and savor, the column of neck to--a pair of eyes that were open and gazing back at him.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi, yourself. Sleep well?"  
  
"Mmm." Jensen stretched and started to ask, "You?" but the word ended in a squeak as Jared stroked a broad palm down Jensen's front and closed around his dick. Alive, it responded instantly, swelling and hardening, and Jensen gasped and his hips bucked toward the pleasure-giving hand. "Jared!"  
  
"Shhh," Jared grinned. "Or if you're gonna talk, tell me what feels good. Tell me what you want."  
  
He was rewarded with a blush that rose from Jensen's chest to his face, and receded again. Jensen humped his hand a little, eyes closed. "That," he said in a rough whisper. "That feels..."  
  
"Good?"  
  
"Amazing," Jensen admitted.  
  
Jared grinned even wider, shifted lower in the bed and took that pretty cock in his mouth. He lavished it with his tongue, nipping and nibbling gently. While Jensen writhed and bucked, lost in sensation, Jared reached for the lube he'd stashed within easy reach. The click of the cap was loud in the room but he wasn't sure Jensen had heard it. He slicked the fingers of his right hand, and while he held the base of Jensen's dick in his left hand and sucked and licked and nibbled, the first finger of his right hand rubbed at Jensen's entrance, pressing gently at the wrinkled skin until it relaxed enough for him to press inside, up to the first knuckle, then the second. He moved the finger in and out, then added a second, twisting his hand a little as he pressed in, scissoring the fingers to press at the tight walls. Feeling the muscles relax a little, he pulled out, added more lube, then pressed in with three fingers, twisting and scissoring, while his thumb pressed at Jensen's perineum and stroked the back of his sac. Jared found Jensen's prostate, and rubbing gently produced the expected physical reaction. Jensen gasped and shuddered.  
  
"Like that, baby?" Jared let Jensen's cock slip from his mouth, stroking again at the responsive spot. Jensen didn't answer, but Jared read his physical reactions and judged him ready. He pushed another pillow under his hips and knelt up behind Jensen, slicking his cock and pushing in. He wanted to bury himself in that tight heat, he wanted to pull out and slam back in, hard. He'd waited for this, been patient, taken his time, made every effort to accustom Jensen to his touch, his presence. Jared felt he'd earned the reward of fucking into his ceiver and claiming him, forcefully, undeniably. But sense prevailed. This was for the long haul. He didn't want to claim just Jensen's body, but his heart as well. He wanted--he wanted a lover, a partner, not just a breeder.  
  
He ran a hand up Jensen's bowed back, feeling the sweat that had broken on his skin. His hand closed gently on Jensen's nape and squeezed, a quick gesture of affection, then he reached underneath him, tucking Jensen's smaller form into the curve of Jared's own body as he rocked gently into him. Jared's hand moved to Jensen's cock, finding it had gone limp and disinterested. He gave a couple of experimental pulls but it didn't respond. Never mind. They would work on that later.  
  
He pulled out partway, feeling the walls of Jensen's channel pull at him, reluctant to let him go, and he pushed back in with a groan. "So hot. So perfect for me, Jensen. You feel so good," he murmured into the hair behind Jensen's ear. His hips pistoned, pushing in as far as he could go before pulling out and doing it again, again--  
  
With a groan, he came inside Jensen, shattering intensity that began to fade as soon as he was done. He rolled onto his side, taking Jensen with him, holding him close, petting his hair, his skin, murmuring words of love and praise as he nosed at his neck, the skin behind his ear. "So good, Jen. So perfect, so beautiful for me." He kissed as far as he could reach, but Jensen didn't turn to accept the kisses. He turned into the pillow, hiding his face from Jared.  
  
Jared's hand slipped down the sweat-slicked belly to take Jensen's cock in hand, to reward him by bringing him off. Jensen rolled away, onto his stomach so that Jared couldn't reach his cock. "Don't."  
  


  
**TEN**   


  
The thirty day "acclimation" period--or as Jared thought of it, their "honeymoon"-- was approaching its end. Jared was making plans to go back to work, at least half-days, on Monday. On the Thursday before, there was a huge delivery of groceries, and Marta was suddenly busy in the kitchen unpacking and organizing things.  
  
"What's going on?" Jensen asked as he and Jared lounged by the pool.  
  
"It's your party, Jen!" Jared grinned. "Time to introduce you to the family. Everybody's coming on Saturday. They're all dying to meet you. I could hardly keep them away the last month, but the custom is to let us have that time alone together." Jared glanced at Jensen, expecting him to be eager for information about the party. He must be getting bored, having seen nobody but Jared and Marta for the last few weeks. Instead, his ceiver's face was unexpectedly blank of expression, and pale. "Jensen, what's wrong?"  
  
Jensen didn't answer, but scrambled up off the lounger and headed toward the house. Concerned, Jared hurried after him, reaching him by the time Jensen was on the stairs. He caught his arm, and turned Jensen to face him. "What is it?"  
  
Jensen didn't meet his eyes, wouldn't look at him. He didn't struggle against Jared's grip, but he did say in a voice that was low and shook with--what? Fear? Anger? "Let me go."  
  
Jared wasn't inclined to grant that request. He shook Jensen gently. "Just tell me what's wrong."  
  
He was trembling now, and pulled against Jared's grip. "Jared please. Just let me go. I'm going to be sick." When Jared opened his hand Jensen spun and practically flew up the stairs, and Jared was right behind him. Jensen ran into, not the en-suite of the room they'd been sharing the past few nights, but the room he'd thought of as his own. As Jared reached the doorway, Jensen bent and retched into the toilet. Jared took the step necessary to put a hand on Jensen, rubbing his back in an attempt to comfort.  
  
"What is it, man? Something you ate at lunch?"  
  
Jensen flushed the toilet, turned to the sink and ran the faucet, rinsed his mouth, splashed his face. He didn't meet Jared's eyes in the mirror, nor did he look at him as he brushed past him to leave the bathroom. "Yeah. Must'a been."  
  
Then Jared got it. "It's not something you ate. This is about the party."  
  
Jensen flushed, and started toward the hall, but Jared was faster and caught him by the arm again. "Jensen." He still refused to meet Jared's eyes, so he caught Jensen's chin and raised his face. Jensen's eyes stubbornly avoided his gaze. "Look at me."  
  
The green gaze skittered across his countenance, but still didn't connect with Jared's. He wrapped an arm about Jensen's waist and pulled him down to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, touching at the shoulders, all along their sides, hips, thighs, calves. Jared snugged him in, hoping touch would ground Jensen, ease whatever craziness was running through Jensen's mind, making him tremble and shake. "Jensen. It's just family. They want to meet you, want to welcome you as my partner, the newest member of the Padalecki clan. It's an honor, and I want to show you off."  
  
A shudder went through Jensen, and Jared could feel him convulse. He looked like he might retch again. Jared sighed. "I can't help you unless you tell me."  
  
He waited. Jensen knew Jared could wait him out. He wasn't letting him go till he spoke. His voice struggled for steadiness, for clarity.  
  
"I'm not family, Jared. I'm the prize mare, bloodstock." Jared was shocked enough that his arm loosened, and Jensen slid away, stood. He didn't leave, though, didn't go anywhere. Just stood facing the window with an unfocused stare. "I'm just on lease from Repro, and your family's curious. They want to see the dam who'll be dropping the progeny you sire."  
  
Jared shook his head, argument automatic on his lips, but the words didn't form, and Jensen finally met his gaze, cutting his eyes to the side under his lashes, sharp and piercing and daring Jared to disagree. When Jared hesitated, trying to marshal his argument, Jensen snapped a nod, one single nod, and wandered over to the window to gaze down at the pool. "It's understandable. They want to get a notion of what the grandkids and nephews and nieces will look like--your height, my eyes, your hair, my freckles." He snorted a laugh that sounded like a knife in his throat. "Does Repro hand out scorecards, I wonder? Points for each trait? Blue eyes worth more than brown? Tall genes worth more than round ones?" A smile that chilled Jared's heart distorted Jensen's features. "You should have some pretty pups, Jared. I know I'm not ugly, by any means. I should score pretty high. Your family should be pleased."  
  
Jared couldn't stand it any more. He crossed the room and put his hands on his ceiver's shoulders, his face next to Jensen's, stepped up to snug his body against that rigid back. "Jensen, Jensen, no. They want to meet you. I've talked to them on the phone, I've told them about you, about us, how happy you've made me. They want to love you, they want to welcome you, to take you in and accept you. They're happy for me. They're happy for _us_ , and they want to share our happiness."  
  
Jensen didn't answer, didn't move. Jared could detect a little relaxation of the rigidity, but was aware that was probably just response to his physical nearness. Whatever, he would take it. He nuzzled Jensen's neck, and used the news he was sure would make Jensen happier.  
  
"I asked your family to come--"  
  
With a shocked cry, Jensen tore himself out of Jared's embrace. "NO!"  
  
"What? Jensen?"  
  
His ceiver was pacing now, frantic. "No, you have to stop them, they can't come, they can't. They can't see me. No, no no no."  
  
"Jensen, wait. Stop." He grabbed for Jensen's wrist, but the other man jerked away and kept pacing.  
  
"Tell them no. Tell them you made a mistake," He demanded, stopping finally, and staring straight at Jared.  
  
"Jensen, you're being silly. They want to see you. They've been concerned about you. Man, they're your family, they love you. They were overjoyed to be invited. Chris and Jason and--"  
  
Jensen spun toward the bathroom, and Jared heard him retching again. He didn't follow. How had everything fallen apart so quickly and completely? He had no idea how to navigate this emotional storm with Jensen.  
  
"Jensen?" he called, deciding not to pursue, but wait until Jensen returned. It was only moments before he heard the toilet flush and the faucet run for a few seconds. Jensen leaned against the doorjamb. "Jesus, Jared. What were you thinking?"  
  
"I was thinking that your family and friends miss you. They're concerned about you, they want to see you. I'm not keeping you in solitary here. You're allowed to see them when they come to visit. We can even visit them. It's not like you--"  
  
"Yeah." Jensen's voice cut him off. "Yeah. It's exactly that. My life is over, Jared. The life I had? Gone. Family? Friends? Belong to _that_ Jensen, the one who played football and went to college and played in a band and got in the car and traveled around whenever he felt like it, fucked girls, got drunk on weekends and got high with his friends, had a career and a chance at fifty years of marriage. That Jensen? Gone. Dead, or might as well be. It's not me, not any more. And they need to know that and get used to it, get over it and move on. Call 'em back and disinvite them, and tell them I love them, I'll always love them, and I'm sorry, okay?"  
  
Jared was too shaken to find a reply. Jensen walked past him, heading toward the hall. "Put a lead on me and show me off at the party, let your family and friends get a good look. I won't fight it. But not the rest. I can't."  
  
  
He had let Jensen leave the room, given him a little space. A half-hour later he found him standing by the slider looking out at the back yard. He walked up behind Jensen, leaned against his back and pecked a soft kiss against the side of his neck. He was gratified and pleased that Jensen tilted his head a little to offer better access.  
  
"I need a run," Jensen said.  
  
Jared nodded. "Let me change--"  
  
"Alone. I need to clear my head."  
  
"Jensen." Jared felt him slump. Felt the defeat before Jensen took a step, two, forward and away from Jared's touch. "You can't."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I won't talk. I'll stay behind you."  
  
"Not the same. It's you I need to be away from." His face twisted wryly, and he half-turned to offer Jared a weary smile. "But thanks."  
  
"I can't refuse your family, Jensen." They had to settle this. Jared couldn't just leave it, Jensen had the right to know how things would be, and that Jared couldn't change it, even if he wanted to. Which he wasn't sure at all that he did. Jensen didn't react, so Jared eased up behind him again, leaning into Jensen's body heat, offering support. "They have the right to see you. I can't prevent them, and as much as I want to please you, I don't want to prevent them.  
  
He nibbled at the skin below Jensen's ear, his voice softer, slower, seductive. "They need to see I'm not being cruel to you, to know I'm not mistreating you. It's their right to come." Jensen shivered under Jared's teasing lips and tongue. "It's time our families meet. They're going to share us, and they're going to share the grandchildren we give them--"  
  
Jensen's body went taut and rigid, and he stepped away, moved swiftly through the door out into the yard. He scooped up the basketball and charged the goal, dribbling the ball hard into the concrete and climbing into the air at the last minute to slam the ball through the hoop. The backboard quivered with the force, and Jensen grabbed the ball and spun to travel down court and do it all over again. Jared wanted more than anything to join him, but he didn't. He waited, hoping Jensen might work off some of the ache and confusion and frustration in physical effort.  
  


  
**ELEVEN**   


  
Jared was fairly humming with tension. Marta and her minions had the buffet looking beautiful and sumptuous. The landscaping decorator had scattered potted trees, plants, a sculpture or two, and outdoor furniture around the yard and patio as though by accidental placement, but everything looked inviting and relaxed. There were lights placed for after dark, if the party went that long.  
  
He dressed carefully, in black slacks and a dark green shirt--quality fabric, but the first few buttons at the neck left casually undone. His shoes were carefully shined. He wanted to present his best appearance at this first meeting with Jensen's family--wealthy and solid enough to take excellent care of their son, but not stuffy or straight-laced enough to keep Jensen to the strictest letter of the law, secluded away from them or his friends. He hoped Jensen would be proud of him, too, proud enough to introduce him to those people who cared about Jensen, as someone eager to join the ranks of those who loved him. He didn't hold out much hope of that at this early stage in their relationship, but he did still hope. If not today, eventually it would come. He'd work hard at it.  
  
He heard the doorbell; the first of the guests had started to arrive. Jared took a last swipe at his hair and turned to go downstairs. He paused and knocked on the closed door of the guest room, where Jensen had asked to shower and get ready by himself. "Jen? You ready to go down? People are starting to get here."  
  
"In a minute or two, Jared. Be right down." Jensen's voice shook a little, but sounded strong. Jared had wanted the two of them to walk down the stairs together, but his features twisted wryly at his fantasy. This wasn't a bridal march, after all.  
  
"Okay, man, see you downstairs. Don't take too long."  
  
Jared's parents had arrived, and his older brother, his wife, and their little girl. He hugged them each in turn and asked, "Where's Megan?"  
  
"She's coming right from work, sweetie. She'll be here. She mentioned bringing Gary with her, I hope that's okay," his mom patted his hair and brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder as he looked around to see who else had arrived.  
  
"That's fine, mom. I haven't gotten to really know Gary--is he a good guy?" Good enough for his baby sister, he meant, and his dad caught his eye and smiled.  
  
"Not bad, Jared. She could do a lot worse--and has done."  
  
Jeff rolled his eyes and snickered. "Remember Ron?" Jared threw back his head and laughed out loud. Yes, he definitely remembered the alarmingly pierced and inked young man with the black fingernails and lipstick and the startlingly blue hair.  
  
"So, Gary's an improvement, I take it?"  
  
"Yes, darling. Gary's a good boy. But we're interested in _your_ young man. Where is Jensen? We want to meet him."  
  
"He's a little nervous," Jared gave his mom a quick squeeze as he moved to welcome new arrivals. "He'll be right down."  
  
In the foyer stood a strong-jawed man and a pretty blonde woman. As she turned toward Jared, he recognized Jensen's eyes. These were Jensen's parents. His little sister and his elder brother were with them, and behind them were three men whom Jared didn't know.  
  
"Hello, welcome. I'm Jared, Jared Padalecki. Mr. and Mrs. Ackles?" He put out a hand and Alan took it, shaking once before he let go.  
  
Jensen's mom let him take her hand, but slid away quickly. "This is our daughter, Jensen's sister MacKenzie, and his brother Josh." She turned to the men standing stiffly behind them. "These are Jensen's friends, Steve Carlson, Jason Manns, and Christian Kane."  
  
Jason reached for Jared's outstretched hand without hesitation. "I hope you don't mind us tagging along with Jensen's folks. We've all been..."  
  
"Concerned." Carlson shook Jared's hand. "We haven't gone a whole month without seeing Jensen, or at least hearing from him, since we've known him."  
  
"I did tell Jensen's folks he was okay when they called," Jared said, extending a hand to Christian. Kane looked at it, expressionless, for a few seconds before taking it. Despite the fact that Jared's paw swallowed the shorter man's hand, Kane attempted to crush it. Jared let him, and took some satisfaction in showing no response. Kane let go, and Jared stepped back, sweeping them all into the living room with an outstretched arm. "He should be down soon. He's a little nervous, meeting everybody."  
  
He shepherded Jensen's parents toward the buffet where his own mom and dad were loading their plates. "Mr. and Mrs. Ackles, let me introduce my parents, Gerald and Sharon Padalecki." The Ackles produced polite smiles, while Jared's parents welcomed them warmly, engaging them at once in conversation and putting plates in their hands, talking about Marta's skill in the kitchen. A definite undertone of "Your son has not been starved in this house" was detectable as Jared moved away. Kane and the other men had found the bar, and Jared noticed MacKenzie touring the room, noting the art on the walls and the furnishings, a thoughtful look on her face. The doorbell rang, and more voices rose in greeting: more aunts, uncles, and cousins arrived, followed by Chad, Matt, and a couple more guys from the office, two of them with their wives. He waved hello but left them to find their own ways to food and drink, and considered a quick trip upstairs to retrieve Jensen.  
  
The slow wave of quiet that moved over the assembly made him look up. Jensen stood halfway down the stairs, looking calmly over the crowd. Jared was stunned anew at his handsome features, seeing him through these people's eyes as for the first time. And something else took his breath for a moment, too. Jensen was wearing the clothes he'd worn when he left the Ceiver Home: loose drawstring pants, long-sleeved tunic, and the open-front vest that fell halfway to his knees. His feet were shod in slippers. For all the calm expression, Jared could see the tremble of nerves telegraphed as the hem of the pants quivered. He swiftly made his way to Jensen on the stairs, sliding a steadying arm about Jensen's waist. He turned to the crowd below, presenting Jensen, introducing him to all of them at once.  
  
"Everyone, this is Jensen. I'll let you introduce yourselves to him one at a time. Now, remember, be nice. This is a lot of strangers for anybody to meet all at once. And the Padalecki's are stranger than most," he joked, hoping to break the tension. It worked; a general chuckle passed through the crowd, and Jared tightened his arm about Jensen's waist to get him moving down the stairs.  
  
"You didn't have to wear that, Jen," he smiled into Jensen's eyes. There was no answering expression there, or on Jensen's features.  
  
"I thought it appropriate, under the circumstances." There was resistance to Jared's pressure, but he did descend the stairs. Waiting at the bottom were his parents. Donna raised her arms to enfold her son, and Jensen bent enough to allow her to hug him. He kept his own arms at his sides, however, and while his eyes closed for a fraction of a second, his expression didn't change.  
  
"Oh Jensen, it's so wonderful to see you! You look good, son, how are you?" she asked while Alan pulled his son into a tight, brief hug.  
  
Jensen straightened and stepped back. "Jared's been very good to me," he told them, and with a little bow, moved on into the crowd. "Jenny!" a girlish voice called, and then MacKenzie flung her arms around his neck and rocked him back on his heels. He caught her around the waist with both arms, as she trusted him with all her weight. After a second, he set her down and detached her from his neck. "Mac." His features softened into something close to a smile as he turned away from her and toward his brother. "Josh." Josh hugged him, slapped him on the back, and let go as Jason and Steve each stepped up for their own hugs. Kane grabbed him and clung on fiercely for awhile, before setting Jensen back and peering into his face with a ferocious expression. "Jenny, how's he treating you? You okay, man?"  
  
Jensen patted Christian's shoulder gently and assured him, "Jared's been very good to me, Chris."  
  
Kane's head tilted to one side and he searched Jensen's face for the truth. Jared took that moment to put a hand on Jensen's shoulder and turn him toward the place where Jared's family waited to be introduced.  
  
"Mom, Dad, this is Jensen. Jensen, this is Gerald and Sharon Padalecki, and my brother Jeff and his wife. My sister Megan and her current boyfriend will be arriving soon."  
  
Jared's mom swept Jensen into a hug almost as fierce as his own mother's had been. "We're all so glad you're here, Jensen! We just can't tell you how excited we are!"  
  
Gerald pumped his hand in a firm handshake. "I hope Jared's treating you all right, Jensen."  
  
Jensen gave a slow and gentle nod. "Jared is very kind," he told them. "He's been very good to me."  
  
Something prickled at the nape of Jared's neck. This was the third time he'd heard Jensen repeat that same sentence, nearly word for word. He took a step back and took a good look at Jensen. He hadn't smiled once, not really. And he hadn't initiated a handshake or returned a hug, not even from his own mother.  
  
"Guys, I need to borrow Jensen for a minute," he smiled, hooking an arm about Jensen's waist and steering him toward the kitchen, where he hoped they'd have a minute alone. He was in luck; Marta was busy at the other end of the room, arranging more canapés on a tray. He faced his ceiver, crouching down a little trying to look him in the eyes. Jensen hadn't resisted the manhandling, but his gaze was stubbornly lowered and unfocused. "Okay, man. What's going on?"  
  
Jensen didn't answer, not even a shrug. "Jensen? Tell me what's going on with you."  
  
"Nothing, Jared."  
  
"This isn't nothing, Jen. You're acting weird."  
  
No response. Jensen's bicep still in Jared's grip, he shook the shorter man a little. "Jensen, talk to me. What are you doing?"  
  
A quick, single flash of green, and then Jensen's gaze fell again. "I'm not doing anything, Jared. I'm here, I'm on display, I'm doing what's required of me, what you wanted."  
  
"This isn't what I wanted!"  
  
"Then am I done? Can I go?"  
  
"No! No, you can't go. This is your party, Jensen, _our_ party. We're celebrating with our families! This is a happy occasion. You're supposed to be happy."  
  
Jensen said nothing. His expression didn't change, he didn't try to tug away. He just stood there. "Jensen, what are you doing?"  
  
A tiny sigh escaped Jensen's lips. "I'm waiting to be told what I'm supposed to do."  
  
Jared's eyes filled, and his voice nearly broke. "I just want you to be happy with me." Jensen's eyes flickered to his own, and away again.  
  
"I'm doing the best I can, Jared. I'm sorry it's not enough."  
  
  
He watched Jensen make the rounds of the room, never initiating a conversation, replying with a nod or a slight shrug or a bare few words when addressed directly. His eyes were unfailingly downcast, he met no one's gaze; addressed directly, he looked at chin or collarbone. He didn't smile, though no one could say his expression wasn't pleasant. He didn't pout or sulk, but he didn't engage. He was present, he allowed everyone to look at him, but moved gently away from the random touch, the attempted hug. He gave no indication of noticing the calculating glances Jared's older female relatives slanted his way, nor the wistful, disappointed gazes of a couple of the girl cousins. Jensen was like a pleasant sort of animatronic person, moving gently and untouched through the gathering.  
  
"Not too shabby, dude," Chad spoke in Jared's ear. Ice rattled as Chad threw back the dregs of his drink and reached for the bottle. "You lucked out, he's pretty."  
  
Jared punched him in the shoulder for form's sake. "Don't be an ass, Chad." But privately, he couldn't disagree. Jared recognized the signs of fatigue around Jensen's mouth and his eyes, the tension in his back, and was about to go to him and try to offer support again when Kane moved to stand by Jensen, Jason and Steve with him.  
  
"Hey, Jenny, man, we're gonna take off."  
  
"It was great to see you, Jensen," Steve wrapped him up in a hug, then let him go so Jason could hug him, too. Jensen just stood and let them. He didn't meet their eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up a little, but it was an evident effort.  
  
Jason smacked his shoulder. "We'll call you, okay? See if we can't get together sometime this week."  
  
"Yeah, Steve's got a new tune he's working on. It could use your input, man, you know how he gets stuck," Kane grinned at Carlson and then at Jensen, who shook his head regretfully.  
  
"I'm...pretty busy right now, guys. Plus, the way it is, Jared has to be with me whenever I'm--out. Of the house. Or when anybody else is here."  
  
There was stark silence as the three friends took in the information. "Son of a--"  
  
"Chris." Steve quietly interrupted Christian, and turned back to Jensen. "You want me to invite him, Jen? We don't mind if he comes along."  
  
"Guys, I appreciate it, I do. I'm just--" Jensen stopped. Swallowed, and finished what he needed to say. "I'm just not in the mood right now. Okay? I'll call you. Or--you know, get Jared to call."  
  
Jason wrapped both arms around him and just hung on for a minute. Steve and Chris piled on, and the four of them stood there, providing what support they could, before the three friends pulled away and made their way to the door. There was such an intense look of grief and anger in Kane's eyes Jared was very glad to have escaped the man's notice as he was leaving. He turned back to find Jensen standing exactly where he'd been as they left him. No expression, no sign of any emotion at all. Jared wanted to go to him, wrap him up and tell him how precious and wonderful he was, how great their life together was going to be, that there would be so many new things to discover and enjoy, things to make up for the loss he was going through right now.  
  
But now was not the time. He turned away to give Jensen a little privacy and time to process before guiding him back to the party.  
  


  
**TWELVE**   


  
Jensen was...compliant. He never argued about the sex. He came to bed when Jared told him to. He didn't fight, he didn't resist, he hadn't, right from the first, although it had been more difficult and awkward at the beginning. Things were a little more relaxed, now. He let Jared do things to him that he obviously didn't enjoy, and he didn't struggle. He was silent, except for an occasional involuntary gasp or grunt. Jared had started to seek those sounds. To make Jensen respond. Because as beautiful as Jensen was naked--and Jared had known he would be from the moment he saw those photos before they ever met--as warm as his skin was, as sensuously as his muscles moved, as good as he smelled, right there in Jared's arms, Jared never felt like Jensen was really _there_ , in the bed with him, when they were having sex.  
  
He wouldn't allow Jared to touch his cock while Jared was fucking him, and he never touched himself. He would get halfway hard from physical stimulation when Jared stroked his prostate, but he never filled completely, and he never came, not from being fucked. He obviously liked being blown, and Jared really enjoyed watching Jensen respond to his tongue and lips. But once he'd come, he wasn't interested in further sex. He didn't object or resist, he just lay unmoving while Jared got himself ready, and then rolled onto his stomach, shoving a pillow under his hips and raising his ass, compliantly, for Jared.  
  
This time, when Jensen started to roll, Jared held his arms to the mattress with both hands. "No, Jen," he didn't know whether an order or a plea would work better, and what came out was somewhere between the two. "Wanna see you."  
  
Jensen turned his face as far to the side as he could, eyes tight shut, and refused to look at Jared. As Jared released one wrist to ready his cock, Jensen flung that arm over his face, a barrier between them. His body stiffened, resisting Jared's attempts to get comfortable between Jensen's thighs, to raise his knees. As Jared sat back, lifting his weight off Jensen, Jensen rolled to his stomach. Again.  
  
"Just--do what you need to do, Jared," he muttered into the pillow. Something tore inside Jared, and he was up and off the bed before he had time to think about it. He was across the room, his back to Jensen, and god, he was choking back sobs and stifling tears.  
  
It was hard to ignore the fact that something wasn't right. Jensen sat up, contemplating Jared's back, tense and shaking with the effort of containing his emotions. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.  
  
Jared huffed out a wry little laugh, shook his head. "I just wish I could make love to you, just once, and not have it feel like rape."  
  
Jensen waited, but Jared didn't say anything else, didn't explain, didn't apologize. And finally, he spoke first. "What do you want me to say, Jared?"  
  
Jared searched Jensen's face before he spoke. "Still? After all this time? I've taken things slow, I've been gentle. I've tried to... I don't know. I thought---"  
  
"You thought what? That I'd learn to like it? Accept the inevitable?" Jensen sat up with a soft snort of derision, wrapping the sheet around his hips. "I'm accepting the situation. I'm letting you--have me. I'm not fighting you. What do you want from me, Jared?"  
  
"I want you to-- I want you to enjoy it." Jared's eyes were wet. Jensen couldn't doubt his sincerity. "It would be nice if--"  
  
"If what?"  
  
"If you, if I felt like you wanted it sometimes. Like you wanted me."  
  
Jensen's surprised huff of laughter was somehow sad. He shuffled back on his ass till he could lean against the headboard, and he met Jared's eyes without flinching. "I like you. I like hanging out with you. We like a lot of the same stuff, and if we'd met...before, I'm pretty sure we'd have been friends." He glanced down at his hands in his lap. "Sometimes--well, you know, they isolate us together for a month to encourage this to happen, but sometimes it feels like you're the most important person in my life." He paused a moment. "I guess from here on, you will be."  
  
Jared stirred, where he stood leaning against the dresser, but he didn't speak, so Jensen continued.  
  
"You're the only person I see. The only one I'm allowed to talk to, to spend time with--"  
  
"Jensen, that's not--"  
  
"Unless you're there too. You're _every minute_ , you know? Unless I'm alone."  
  
Jared stopped and absorbed that bit of knowledge from Jensen's perspective.  
  
"So, yeah. I like you, a lot. Which, you know, is a lot better than hating your guts. But, well, _wanting_ you? Like that?" He shook his head, but the smile on his face was soft and somehow kind. "Only if you were a girl, Jared."  
  
Once more, Jensen's perspective rocked Jared a little, put things in a different light. He took a breath, nodded. "Yeah. Okay."  
  
Jensen looked puzzled, and a little alarmed. "What?"  
  
"I can be the girl. I mean, I don't exactly mind, you know?"  
  
"Wait, Jared--"  
  
"No. It makes sense, sort of. I'm gay. I haven't been with a lot of guys, but I have bottomed, and I like it. So, I'm okay with that, if you want it. If it makes this easier for you. I want _you_ , Jensen. Any way I can have you."  
  
Jensen looked at him like he'd sprouted two extra heads. "There are so many things wrong with this idea."  
  
He rocked forward, wanting to be closer, to touch, to convince by nearness and skin and breath. God he wanted Jensen, never wanted anybody more. But this moment could determine the rest of their life together, everything about it, about them, and he stayed where he was. "I can be good for you, Jensen. I can make it so good. I want you. I want you to be happy, I want you to be happy with _me_."  
  
"This is not going to get me pregnant, Jared."  
  
"Screw that. We'll worry about that later. I just--I just want you to be happy, at least a little happy, with me."  
  
Jensen was still staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "Repro's not going to be happy if I'm not knocked up by the end of the year."  
  
"One thing at a time," Jared told him, with the gravity of a promise. "Say yes."  
  
  


 


	4. More Than Words

** **

****

 

****

 

****

**  
THIRTEEN**

  
"So where are we going?" Jensen was a little excited about going out. But he was also a little diffident about spending Sunday afternoon watching football on TV with strangers.  
  
"My friend Gordon asked a few people over for the game this afternoon," Jared repeated the information he'd given Jensen earlier, aware of his ceiver's jitters. "Gordon and his ceiver have been together about eight years now, I think. Richard's coming, and he's bringing his ceiver, too."  
  
Jared took the freeway onramp and merged smoothly into traffic, checking his mirrors and keeping an eye on traffic ahead and to the side. Jensen's fingers twitched. It had been more than two months since he'd driven. He missed it.   
  
"Richard's older, our dads' age," Jared continued. "He and his wife were married for more than twenty years. She wasn't fertile, and she didn't want to have kids with a ceiver, so Richard just accepted there wouldn't be children in his life. Marion died a year ago, and Richard decided he wanted kids after all. He applied for a ceiver a few months after she was gone, and Daniel was assigned to him about six weeks ago." Jared grinned. "It's a real May-December kind of thing."   
  
Jensen nodded. "Must be."  
  
"There are a couple of other peres who will be bringing their ceivers," Jared continued. "I thought it would be a chance for you to meet some of the others, maybe talk over some of their experiences, and your concerns?"   
  
Jensen's throat tightened. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to meet or get to know other ceivers. On the other hand, maybe it could be helpful. He felt Jared's gaze, and managed a nod and a half smile. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe."  
  
The house was bigger than Jared's, and in a more expensive neighborhood. They drove through the heavy iron gated entrance into a walled courtyard. The wall extended all the way around the house, and there were wide sweeps of lawn as far as Jensen could see. He could hear the sounds of children's laughter and splashing at a distance--there must be a pool in the back yard. Jared parked and they walked up to the door, which opened before they could knock.   
  
"Come in, come in!" Gordon grabbed Jared in a brief hug. "Glad you could make it, man."  
  
"Thanks for having us," Jared smiled. Gordon gave Jensen a toes-to-hairline assessing glance before telling Jared, "Ames is in the den. Back that way." Jared glanced at Jensen and nodded in the direction Gordon had indicated, waiting till Jensen started to move that way. Jensen could hear football on the TV coming from another room, and hesitated, thinking to go in and watch, but Jared's hand fell on his shoulder and turned him toward the den. "I'll see you in a while Jensen. Enjoy yourself." He and Gordon obviously had no intention that Jensen should join them, so he moved on toward the doorway and the quiet conversation he could hear as he moved away from the TV.  
  
The room's lighting was subdued, but there were comfortable chairs and couches, and lamps on the tables. Jensen hesitated in the doorway, and a man in traditional ceiver dress rose and came to meet him. "Hi, Jensen?" Jensen nodded. "Gordon said you and Jared would be coming. Come in, meet the guys." A hand on his back gently ushered him into the room and indicated places to sit.   
  
"I'm Ames, Gordon's my pere." He turned to another man dressed as a ceiver, seated in a deep club chair. "This is Marty, he's with Ed, and that's Carl over there, he's with Drew." The other ceivers nodded. Jensen felt a little out of place in his jeans and t-shirt. But he found a seat and settled in.  
  
"I've got snacks, let me get those," Ames said. "Jensen? What are you drinking?"  
  
Beer, Jensen wanted to say. And to watch the game, but he answered, "What do you have?"  
  
"Um, apple juice, cranberry, and OJ--I can cut those with water or seltzer for those of us watching the sugar. And I have herbal tea, and plain seltzer or water. What'll it be?"   
  
"Just water," Jensen said. "Can I help you with anything?"  
  
"No, no," Ames reassured him, sweeping the others with a glance. "I can get it. Anybody need a refill?" Nobody took Ames up on it, so he disappeared to get the refreshments.   
  
The ceiver introduced as Marty turned to Jensen. "So, you're new, huh?"  
  
"Uh. Yeah," Jensen nodded. When no one spoke, he added. "I've been with Jared about two months now."  
  
"Three years for me," Carl chimed in from across the room, and Marty said, "I've been with Ed for nearly five years."  
  
Jensen nodded. He couldn't really think of anything to say. Carl didn't have that problem. "So, you're the one, huh?"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You didn't find out you're a ceiver till now?"  
  
Jensen stared. How did he know? And what business was it of his?  
  
Marty spoke, "You never had any training? Is that true?"  
  
"Yeah." Jensen didn't want to make any enemies, here, he didn't want to lie. But he wasn't comfortable being the topic of conversation, either.  
  
"So, what do you do? I mean--you were never taught--"  
  
"Here we are!" Jensen was saved by Ames' return, laden with a tray, which Jensen moved to clear a space for on the coffee table. He glanced at the offerings. Raw vegetables, apple slices, a bowl of what looked like hummus, and another of cottage cheese. Ames handed the glass of water to Jensen and smiled before he took a seat on the sofa with Carl. There was an odd noise, a kind of squeak, and Marty reached down beside his chair and lifted something into his lap.  
  
A baby. It was an infant, maybe a couple of months old. Jensen hadn't even known it was sleeping there in the basket Jensen now noticed beside Marty's chair. Marty was cooing to it now.  
  
"Did we have a good nap, did we? Are we hungry? Ready for some food, boo?" As Jensen watched, Marty held the baby in one arm while he pulled his vest back on one side and lifted his tunic before settling the baby at his breast. The child fastened on the nipple, making little grunting noises as it sucked.   
  
Marty turned back to the conversation. Jensen didn't hear what the others in the room were saying. His stomach rolled, and he tore his gaze away, tried to shut out the noise. He couldn't think about this, even with it right there in front of him. Especially with it right in front of him.  
  
"...Jensen?"  
  
His eyes snapped to Ames' face, and he lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"   
  
They went on talking, and Jensen did his best not to pay attention to the noises the baby was making, did his best to deal with a man breastfeeding, did his best to keep from putting himself in Marty's place before too long.   
  
Carl groaned, and moved to stand, placing a hand on his hip as he arched his back, stretching. The vest and full tunic did nothing to disguise the round swell of his stomach. "I've got to pee again. Kid's romping on my bladder." Ames and Marty smirked in sympathy. It was all Jensen could do to keep from running from the room. He made an attempt to actually listen to the conversation, which appeared right now to be about diaper detergents and second-grade homework, but his hands were knotted into fists, and his nails cut into his palms. He didn't notice at first, but then the pain helped keep him grounded. He tried to ease up a little--didn't want to bleed on the furniture.  
  
Movement at the door drew Jensen's eye. He assumed it was Carl returning. But it was a kid, a young boy who looked about sixteen or seventeen. He wore the tunic over his pants, but no vest. And while Marty, Ames and Jensen watched, the large older man with him cupped his jaw and kissed him deeply, then drew back to pepper tiny kisses on his nose, his chin, his forehead. The man whispered something in the boy's ear, and gave one ass cheek a squeeze before moving away toward the sound of the TV.  
  
"Daniel!" Ames called, and the boy turned in answer. His expression was soft and unfocused; his lips were swollen and red from kissing. "Come and sit down." Ames patted the sofa beside him. As the boy brushed by Jensen, he smelled like sex.   
  
Marty raised the baby to his shoulder and began to pat its back. The infant belched, and the other men chuckled indulgently. Daniel reached both hands toward Marty. "Oh, can I hold her?"   
  
Marty wiped her mouth with the corner of her blanket and handed her over. Daniel accepted the baby like she was made of glass, but quickly cuddled her to his body like she was a missing part. While the rest of the room looked on, smiling, Daniel talked in a low voice to the infant, who regarded him with a stare that could have been either blank, or wise.  
  
Carl was back, and he wheedled until Daniel surrendered the baby to his arms. She seemed to snuggle in atop his bulging belly, and he focused on her little face to talk nonsense to her.  
  
Marty regarded him with a reserved expression. "Won't be long before you and Jared have one of your own," he said. Jensen didn't answer, and Marty didn't push. None of the others in the room seemed to notice Jensen's lack of response. "You want to hold her next?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"The baby. You want to hold her?"  
  
Jensen shook his head. He was paralyzed at the very idea. "No, that's all right."  
  
"Suit yourself," Marty told him. "But you have the look of someone who's never had much exposure to children. A little practice might not go amiss."  
  
Jensen just smiled tightly and didn't say anything else. The conversation seemed to flow on around him without any input from him, and he was fine with that. In less than an hour, the man Jensen realized was Richard was at the door again. "Daniel."   
  
The boy leapt to his feet, his face alight, and rushed to the arms of the older man. The two of them disappeared. But then Daniel was back twenty minutes later, flushed and glowing. During the following hour and a half, Richard called for Daniel twice more.  
  
He couldn't recall later what they had talked about in that room. But when Jared appeared at the door, Jensen scrambled to his feet and quickly went to Jared. "Time to go?"  
  
Jared ducked down to eye level. "Are you okay, Jensen? Are you not having a good time?"  
  
"It's been fun," Jensen turned to Ames, and each of the others in turn. "It was nice to meet you all."  
  
Ames nodded, as did Carl. Marty said, "We'll have to get together again soon."  
  
Jensen just nodded, and turned back to Jared. "Now, please? Can we go?"  
  
  
Jared tried to start a conversation in the car on the way home, but Jensen only answered in monosyllables. He was out of the car and in the house before Jared even had the garage door down. He followed Jensen more slowly, wanting to know what had gone on at Gordon's that had Jensen so rattled.  
  
Jensen had a beer in his hand, half of it gone. He took another long pull and met Jared's quizzical gaze. "What was that, Jared?"  
  
Jared got his own beer out of the fridge and popped off the cap. "I thought it would be good for us to get out of the house for a change. Spend some time with friends, give you a chance to meet some new people."  
  
Jensen nodded. "New people. People like me, you mean?" At Jared's puzzled look, he asked, "Is that what you want, Jared? Is that what you expect of me?"  
  
Jared's arms rose in a helpless shrug. "Help me out here, man. I don't know what's got you so upset. Did something happen? Somebody say something..?"  
  
"Did you have fun this afternoon, Jared? Watching the game with friends, drinking a little bit? Telling jokes, catching up with the guys? Betting on plays, maybe? Chowing down on game food? Pizza? Salty, fatty stuff you're going to have to work off in the gym the next few days?"  
  
"Yeah, so?"   
  
"Yeah. We could hear you, a little bit. That house has pretty good soundproofing, but the doors were open, so sound carried a little bit. We could hear the mumble of the TV, and you guys laughing and talking. Sounded like you were having a good time."  
  
"It was fun, okay? It was just a game with the guys. What are you making such a big--"  
  
"Did you look in that room when you came to pick me up? Did you get any impression at all, anything you remember?"  
  
Jared thought a minute, and then shook his head. "It was--nice? I mean, it was kind of--dark. And--"  
  
"Quiet?"  
  
Jared nodded, understanding beginning to dawn. "Yeah."  
  
"I'm not--" Jensen set his empty bottle carefully on the counter and took a step back. "I can't. Those guys-- Is that what you expect me to be? I'm not like that. I can't be like that."  
  
Jared stepped toward him, getting hands on his shoulders, keeping him from retreating any further. "Jensen. Jensen. I'm so sorry. I didn't think. I was stupid and I didn't think. Forgive me.  
  
"Of course you're not like those guys. _We're_ not like that." He felt the tension ease a little in Jensen's body, and risked pulling him closer, getting arms around him, but gently, loosely, reassuring rather than restraining. He dipped to nuzzle against Jensen's neck, begging forgiveness and offering reassurance.  
  
"That's not what I want. I want you. Just you. You don't have to be anything or anyone other than who you are right now. I won't ask it."  
  
Jensen leaned into him, his arms coming up around Jared's back, a step to get his leg between Jared's, a slight pressure there, increasing the longer they stood embracing. "I can't be like them."  
  
"I know. I don't want you to be. Just want you, just you."  
  
Jensen dropped his arms, stepped back out of Jared's embrace, nodded. "Yeah, okay, good. But I'm here to get pregnant, Jared. If this works, I'm going to look just like Carl. I--" He wrapped his arms tight around his middle, wouldn't meet Jared's gaze. "I don't think I can do this."   
  
Jared held himself still with an effort, not wanting to crowd Jensen, letting him have his space, work things through. "We'll work it out," he promised. "The two of us, we'll work it out."  
  
  


**FOURTEEN**

  
Jared stopped running in the mornings before work. He left Jensen sleeping in, dressed and slipped out without waking him. When he got home, Jensen was dressed out and ready to go. Jared would rather have showered and stretched out for a little bit before dinner, and afterward some TV, or a few games of COD before bed. But he was well aware that Jensen had been cooped up all day, and after a quick greeting, he changed into running clothes and the two of them headed out. It was good time spent together. Jared wanted to make up for his screwup with the football party, and prove to Jensen that they were different than those guys. They didn't talk a lot, until they got to the halfway point and slowed to a walk, had a mouthful of water. They ambled a while, Jensen taking note of people in the park or moving through the shopping area, eyes bright with interest. They ran back toward home, taking it easy. Then it was a shower, a blowjob, perhaps a reciprocal one, or a handjob, a few minutes kissing, dressing in sweats, and downstairs for dinner and time on the couch in front of the TV.   
  
Jared was busy getting back up to speed at work, and fielding questions from his friends and coworkers about his new status and his ceiver. Chad kept complaining. "Man, you never want to come out for drinks anymore. You're turning into a pussy. An _old_ pussy, man, just stay by the fire and let your wife keep you warm and entertained." Chad didn't back off at Jared's frown. "How is the ball and chain, anyway? What's he doing with himself all day while his sugar daddy's out making a living? When are you gonna ask us over to beat your asses at COD?"   
  
And oh yeah, _that_ was a good idea—not! Jared just shook his head and promised to get away after work for drinks with the guys...soon. He felt obligated to rush home after work, knowing he was Jensen's only company and contact, other than Marta. He worried about that a little. But as long as Jensen seemed to be settling in at home, Jared really hadn't given a lot of thought to how Jensen was occupying himself during the day.   
  
  
Jensen was trying, he really was. He slept as late as he could make himself stay in bed, took his time showering and dressing. He lingered over breakfast, talking with Marta, until she excused herself to go do laundry or something. He swam, he worked out, he played a few sessions of one-player. He surfed the net, read the news.   
  
He had started emailing his family and some of his friends, he just wasn't ready to face them yet, still unsettled and unsure in his new life. But it helped to ease the feelings of isolation to email back and forth.   
  
He explored the house, finding three more empty bedrooms on the second floor, with a shared bath. There was a door at the end of the hall where the bedroom he shared with Jared was; it opened onto the bonus room above the garage. Beyond that was another bonus room, built when the weight room had been added on. The rooms were finished, dry-walled and carpeted, but empty. Jensen looked out the windows and saw only treetops, and a slice of the pool. It was quiet up here, not that the house was noisy, but sounds of traffic and neighbors didn't seem to reach these rooms.   
  
His folks had sent the rest of his things, his guitars, both electric and acoustic, his amps, his rudimentary recording and playback equipment. There were a few things he'd collected on vacations, gifts from family and friends: a piece of carving, a painting, a couple of prints and some posters he'd had framed or mounted, a horse blanket, a wooden ship's model he had worked on for two years and was quite proud of, other things. Everything had been stored in the garage, and Jensen set about bringing it upstairs and arranging it around one of the empty rooms. When he started, he just wanted to go through it all, but then it became important to be able to see all of it, and once he had it arrayed, it felt familiar, somehow comforting. He wouldn't keep it all, of course. There was no need to hang onto the duck he'd carved from a tree branch at scout camp--especially as it looked more like a lizard than a duck. But as he winnowed and arranged, the room started to feel more and more like a den, a retreat, a place of his own.   
  
  
He heard the key in the lock, heard Jared go into his office to leave his laptop and other stuff, heard him make his way to the stairs. Jensen had made sure Marta would be gone this evening, and as Jared reached the top of the stairs, he struck, and struck hard, pushing and shoving at Jared, up against the wall, an ambush, giving no quarter.  
  
Jensen wrenched the tie loose and scattered a button or two as he yanked the shirt collar open.   
"--Jensen--"  
  
"No talking." Jensen bit down hard on the side of Jared's neck, tongues and lips and teeth and stubbled skin of necks and jaws. Chests shoving closer, no air between, hips and thighs bumping, rubbing, pushing. Jensen's hipbone and thigh pressed hard against Jared's slacks-covered cock, Jensen's own finding friction against Jared's splayed thigh. "Want you," he muttered into Jared's mouth, tugging Jared's bottom lip between his teeth.   
  
"Got me," Jared's dimples flared as the words, hoarse and breathy, fell against Jensen's lips.   
  
"Wanna fuck you," Jensen yanked up Jared's shirt, getting hands on skin before thumbing open his suit pants and shoving a hand down the front to cup Jared's rapidly filling cock.   
  
"Thought you'd never ask,'' Jared groaned, and Jensen grabbed him by hip and shoulder, shoving, pushing, manhandling Jared away from the wall, down the hall toward the bedroom.   
  
"Bed. Now!"  
  
  
Things were better. Four months at Jared's, and things were definitely better. The sex was still weird, but it was sex, and he got off, and more important, he felt like a hero, like he had some sort of enormous power, whenever he got Jared off. He'd gotten addicted to the gasps and the slack mouth, the filthy language and the miles-long limbs of Jared in bed, at Jensen's mercy. He supposed he could give up tits for Jared, he grinned to himself.  
  
He had shown Jared what he was doing with the bonus room, and Jared had given him free rein. There was still money in Jensen's account, saved for the trip to England and Europe, and credit on his VISA, and he mentioned maybe ordering furniture, paint colors, shelving. Jared and he went shopping on weekends, when Jared had time, and the room had started coming together. Jensen decided to paint the second room as well, and was deciding how he wanted to use it. It was absorbing and fun having a project to work on. Jared asked for the credit card bills so he could pay them. It was awkward, but Jensen had no income, and Jared was responsible for him--and for making him happy. Jensen was working on being okay with that. Things were definitely better than Jensen had believed they were going to be. He was--if not actually happy, then he was okay.  
  
  
"Jared, I'm not peeing on a stick." If Jensen's voice wavered a little, it was from the nausea he'd been having for the last week. And some annoyance at the hopeful grin and glances Jared couldn't help throwing his way.  
  
"Come on, Jen. We need to know!" Jared wheedled, waving the piece of pink and white plastic in his hand.  
  
"I don't need to know," Jensen grumbled, halfway to resuming his seat and unsure if he was going to bolt to the bathroom again.  
  
"Then you need to see the doctor. There's something wrong--you shouldn't be throwing up for this long over a bad taco."  
  
"I told you," Jensen eased himself down, trying not to jostle his iffy insides. "Once I get an upset stomach, they tend to stick around for a while. Hand me that ginger ale." He put out a hand toward the soda can. "And make me some toast."  
  
Jared handed his ceiver the ginger ale and headed for the toaster. "You gonna keep it down this time?"  
  
Jensen emitted a loud belch, and then grinned unrepentantly at his own rudeness. "Gonna try," he promised.  
  
An hour later the toast had made a reappearance and the ginger ale was all gone. Jared volunteered to make a convenience store run for more, and Jensen was alone. His eye fell on the stick from the pregnancy test, forgotten on the end table. He picked it up, and the box it came in, and read the instructions.  
  
It was impossible. It wasn't something that could happen to him. Never in a lifetime.   
  
Was it? That's why he was here, after all, wasn't it? Did he want to know? He wanted to know it was a false alarm. He wanted to know this was just a random stomach bug--that's all this was. He'd prove it.  
  
  
Jared came home to an empty house. "Jensen? Jen, I got the ginger ale. You want some now?" Jensen wasn't in the den, nor in the living room. Maybe he'd gone up to bed. He'd been feeling pretty lousy for the last week. Jared opened the two-liter, put ice in a glass and filled it with the soda. It was pretty late, so he checked the doors, set the alarm, and turned out the lights before he headed upstairs.   
  
"Jen? I brought your soda, man," he called quietly. If Jensen had managed to fall asleep he didn't want to wake him. There were no lights on in the bedroom, nor in the en-suite. Familiarity and streetlight glow took him across the room to set the glass on the bedside table. "Jen?" He reached out to find Jensen, but the pillows were smooth, there was no indentation where someone had lain. He snapped on the bedside lamp and saw the room was empty. "Jensen?" Alarm spiked his voice, and he turned to the bathroom, flipping the light switch on another empty room. He turned to search the rest of the house, but a flash of pink from the trashcan caught his eye. He moved to retrieve it--it was the box from the test. Under it was the stick, two blue lines drawn plainly across the indicator.   
  
Positive. He'd taken the test, and it was positive. Jensen was pregnant! Jared's heart leapt with excited joy, before he was compelled to confront the fact that Jensen didn't share his elation.   
  
Oh god. Where was he? What had he done--had he--? Jared didn't allow that thought to complete itself, he just dropped the evidence back in the trash and spun to begin looking for Jensen.   
  
  
He wasn't in the house. Jared had searched the upstairs first, Jensen's old room, the bathroom, the other guest rooms, closets. He even searched the empty bonus rooms above the garage and weight room before searching the ground floor. There just weren't that many places to hide--and it made Jared's heart hurt that Jensen wanted to hide.   
  
This wasn't something he could hide from. But Jared would help him face it. They would be together in this, Jensen wouldn't be alone. They would make plans, and read to each other about stages, and about raising kids. It would be okay, it would. Jared just had to find him. He wasn't in the office, or the laundry room, or the garage. He wasn't in the weight room, the cabana kitchen or the changing room, Jared checked every shower stall.   
  
He couldn't be gone, he couldn't. Jensen would never run away. Aside from the relationship he and Jared had forged, Jensen would know that running would put his family in jeopardy, and he would never do that. So if he wasn't in the house, then he had to be outside.  
  
Oh god, the pool. Jared shut off the alarm, hit the outside lights and sprinted out to the pool. Which lay blue and calm and thank god empty under the lights. The shadows of the trees were black and solid, and he needed a flashlight, but he couldn't take the time to go back to the garage to get one. He had to find Jensen. He started at the corner of the weight room and worked his way along the fence to the back of the property. His eyes were adjusting a little, but he should have turned off the floodlights--the shadows were so dense he couldn't see into them from six feet away. He kept to the fence, walking the back edge of his yard, his heart in his throat at every step. He'd been listening so hard he realized he hadn't spoken since he'd left the garage.  
  
"Jensen?"  
  
There was a soft scuffling ahead of him. Oh god, "Jensen? Is that you?" He felt along the fence, blind in the darkness, and then the branches overhead parted in a breeze and moonlight slanted down. There, huddled on the ground into the corner of the fence, as far from the house as he could get and still be on Jared's property, was Jensen.  
  
He shook violently when Jared stooped to gather him in his arms, and resisted Jared's pull. But Jared wouldn't be denied, and he manhandled his lover up onto his feet, though most of his weight leaned on Jared.  
  
"Jensen, thank god. Let's get you into the house." Jensen shivered, and Jared tried to chafe his arms as he steered him toward the lights.   
  
"Jared?" he sounded confused and uncertain, almost dazed.  
  
"Yeah, Jen."  
  
"What're we doing out here?"  
  
Jared snorted a little relieved laugh. "I don't know, man. You tell me."  
  
  
He got Jensen inside, got the locks, the lights, and the alarm reset, then manhandled him up the stairs. Jensen still seemed a little shocky, so Jared sat him on the bed and put the glass of ginger ale in his hand and ordered him to drink it. When he stopped halfway, Jared tipped the glass up with a finger until Jensen finished it. He stripped him down to his boxer briefs, and put him to bed, quickly undressing himself and climbing in to spoon up behind him.   
  
"You're all right now," Jared nosed at the hair on his crown. "Sleep, Jensen." Jensen pressed back against him a little more, sighed in what sounded like relief, and was asleep almost in the next breath.   
  
Jared took a slow breath and let it out almost as slowly. Tomorrow was going to be a difficult day. He made a mental note to call in to work for the day off. He and Jensen had to talk. And there were other things that needed to be done, none of them that Jensen was going to welcome.  
  
  
Sunlight filled the room when he opened his eyes. His body felt languid and easy, the way it hadn't for the last few days. A solid weight behind him radiated warmth, and Jensen squirmed back into that warmth and closed his eyes, planning to doze for a while.  
  
"Get up." A large hand shoved gently at his shoulder, but he ignored it. "Get yourself in the shower," Jared's voice buzzed in his ear, his whiskers brushing the skin and making him flinch. "We have an appointment at 10:00."  
  
The sunlight went harsh and all the warmth bled away. A heavy lump of ice settled in his stomach, radiating cold out into the rest of him. "What kind of appointment?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.  
  
"Dr. Stephens needs to examine you, make sure everything's okay. And we need to set up a timetable of exams and labs and appointments for you." Jared threw back the duvet, leaving him exposed and chilled. "Vitamins, diet, exercise, need to get all that in gear. And as soon as we get the all-clear, we need to call our families and let them know."  
  
On his side, his face pressed into his pillow to block out sight, Jensen pulled his knees up to his chest, balling his body into as small a shape as he could. Jared pushed at his shoulder again, and when Jensen only curled tighter, Jared shook him. "Jensen. Get up."  
  
"Go without me."  
  
"What would be the point in that?"  
  
"This is your party, Jared, your grand plan. Nothing to do with me."  
  
"Wrong." Jared crawled over him to stand at the bedside and manhandle him up to a sitting position. Jensen's stomach rolled and clenched at the change in position. He clamped his lips shut, but the effort was futile. He pushed Jared aside and sprinted for the toilet.  
  
He managed to nibble some dry toast, and drink some club soda. He brought the bottle with him as Jared herded him into the car. Jared knew better than to try and make conversation, and just left Jensen alone as he navigated through the streets, but Jensen could feel him vibrating with tension and excitement. He shared the tension, but the only other things he could feel were alternating waves of dread and panic, laced with a tinge of nausea. More than once his left hand strayed to the buckle of his seat belt, his right to the door handle. Then he heard the click as Jared engaged the child-lock, and almost snickered.  
  
"It's going to be fine, Jensen," Jared's voice was firm and sure, with a happy undertone that made Jensen's panic flare even higher. "You'll see."   
  
  


**FIFTEEN**

  
He got through it, mainly by keeping his eyes closed, or at least not looking at anybody, and humming lyrics in his head to block out the questions Dr. Stephens, "Hi Jensen, call me Mark," fired at him. Jared answered them. He had to lie down while _Mark_ pressed hard enough to leave bruises in tender places on his belly, and then gloved up for a quick and dirty internal. Then there were the stirrups and the speculum and the spelunker's headlight. Mark kept up a running commentary the whole time. Jensen wished he'd thought to bring his iPod.   
  
Jared conversed eagerly with the equally enthusiastic doctor about prescriptions and instructions and advice, and carefully made notes of it all. Jensen worried at a lyric line in his head for a song he'd been working on, trying this combination of words, and then that, substituting nouns and verbs till one combination felt right.  
  
"...Jensen?" Another bunch of words he hadn't heard. He looked up at the sound of his name, and Mark pushed a sheaf of booklets and handouts into his hands. "These will help you understand the changes you're going through. I can imagine it's hard for you to deal with all this information, these things that are happening, especially when you never had the training and the education in at least knowing what to expect." Mark tried for eye contact, but Jensen laid the stack of slick paper with its colorful fonts and photos down on the exam table, let his focus slide away again. Jared could deal with it.   
  
Jared was good at that. He took Jensen straight home and turned him over to Marta with strict instructions to eat something, before running back out to fill the prescriptions and pick up the supplements Mark had recommended. Jensen nibbled at his lunch and went upstairs, crawled into bed to nap.   
  
He woke late in the afternoon, cocooned in the warmth of Jared spooned up behind him. Sensing Jensen was awake, Jared nibbled on his shoulder, his neck, sucked an earlobe between his teeth and tugged and sucked at it. Jensen's cock stirred, and he relaxed and pressed back into the warmth. Jared's hand stroked his flank, his hip, and Jensen expected to feel it wrap around his filling cock. Instead, the fingertips stroked low across his belly, and then the flat of Jared's hand settled there in a gentle caress.   
  
Jensen stiffened, and pushed himself up, away, and onto his feet, grabbing his boxer briefs and heading into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Jared heard as he relieved himself, washed his hands, splashed his face. He came through the bedroom, scooping his discarded jeans and tee off the floor without looking at Jared, who said from the bed where he lay waiting for Jensen to return, "You feeling better?"  
  
Jensen tugged his jeans up, fastened them, threw his tee on and headed out the door. "Yeah."   
  
  
Jared stared at the doorway Jensen had just left. He'd laid down with him hoping for a little snuggle time, and maybe even sex. Jensen had seemed into it, but then suddenly couldn't get away fast enough. Jared sighed and stretched, before getting up and finding his own clothing. He had the whole rest of the afternoon off, and he'd planned for them to spend it together.   
  
He found Jensen in the living room, in the middle of a one-player. Jared picked up the other control and waited for an opportunity to join the game. The silence was oppressive, though. "So, Mark's nice," was the conversation opener he chose. Jensen killed somebody onscreen. "I got your 'scrips and your vitamins and things. I thought you should probably start taking them at supper." Another character met a spectacular end. "Some of them need to be taken with food." The game ended, and Jensen waited silently for Jared to log on.  
  
"Jensen?"  
  
His character was overcome by a vicious attack, but Jared was a master at this game, and he fought off all but the two or three assailants who ran away. "Jensen, come on, talk to me."  
  
"Nice move, Jared."  
  
"Thanks!" He waited a beat or two before nudging the conversation back on track. "Did you get a chance to look at any of the information he gave us?"  
  
Silence. And then two of his henchmen were pinned down by a hail of gunfire. "Some of it's really interesting. I think if we learn more--"  
  
Jensen threw down his control, rose, and stalked off toward the sliders, and out onto the patio. Jared shut down the game and stowed the controls, giving the man some time before going after him. As he approached the glass doors, though, Marta announced, "Dinner."   
  
"Would you mind calling Jensen?" he asked, and when the housekeeper nodded, he went to measure out the doses of the vitamins, supplements, and prescriptions Jensen would be taking for the next few months. There were a number of them. No wonder hospitals put meds in those little plastic cups. Not having one of those, Jared took down a shot glass from the cupboard, and put Jensen's pills in that, and set the glass by his plate.  
  
Things were not much better, if at all, during dinner. Jared attempted to make conversation, Jensen let him. Jensen’s eyes were on his plate, or on his hands, anywhere but on Jared, except when his lips twisted at the sight of the shot glass. He raised it in salute, his green gaze blazing at Jared, an expression more sneer than smile on his face. “Bottoms up!” He tossed it back like a shot of liquor, and chased it down with a swallow or two of water.  
  
Jared smiled in approval, but Jensen’s gaze had fallen again, and he wouldn’t engage in conversation. He pushed the food around on his plate, but Jared noticed he didn’t eat half of it. He opened his mouth to encourage Jensen to eat more, and then thought better of it. When Jensen was obviously finished, fork down in spite of a half-full plate, Jared suggested, “Movie?”  
  
Green eyes flickered to him briefly, and away, and Jensen shook his head. “I’m a little tired. I’m just gonna go on to bed.”  
  
“I’ll come too,” Jared offered, but Jensen shook his head.   
  
“To _sleep_ , Jared. You...watch some TV or something. I know you, and you’re not ready to go to sleep.”  
  
Jared grinned. It was the first time Jensen had actually said something normal, all day. He took it as a good sign. “I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed,” he promised, intending in that moment to keep it.  
  
“Probably take an army,” Jensen muttered as he headed to the stairs. Jared cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher before he settled by himself on the sofa and reached for the remote. The DVR had been neglected for a few days; it probably needed clearing off.  
  
  
Pregnancy wasn’t fun for the dad, either, Jared found out in the next few days. Jensen wasn’t interested in sex. He was touchy and cranky and while he made no advances himself, he allowed Jared to find release, even accepted an infrequent hand job or a blowjob. But just as often, he would roll out of Jared’s arms and hurry to the bathroom, and Jared would lie and wince in sympathy as Jensen retched into the toilet. Jensen seemed to find comfort, though, in Jared’s arms, little-spooned into the curve of his body.   
  
There were times Jensen rolled out of bed to use the bathroom, or to wander downstairs to watch something off the DVR or a DVD, or to load up a game because he “couldn’t sleep”, only to be found in the morning curled under the sofa quilt. It took a little while for Jared to realize that those were the times Jared’s hand had gently stroked, or had settled in a flat caress low on Jensen’s abdomen, where their baby was growing inside him. The pile of booklets and information Mark had given them lay as Jared had left it on the end table, untouched. As were the books he had ordered on ceiver anatomy and management of pregnancy.   
  
Jensen slept late, as he had done since Jared went back to work. But he was taking afternoon naps now, Marta reported. And he was in bed and asleep not long after dinner. His appetite was low; he seemed nauseous much of the time, and random, unexpected, often tiny things would trigger bouts of vomiting. Jensen spent a lot of the time he wasn’t in bed on the couch in front of the TV. Mark assured him that it was all pretty normal when Jared called, and suggested he back off as much as possible and just let Jensen get through it as easily as he could. The symptoms would ease during the second trimester, the doctor promised.   
  
He also indicated Jensen was past the “risky” part of pregnancy where miscarriages were most likely. They were into the traditional “announcement” time of Jensen’s pregnancy, and Jared was drawing up the guest list for the party.   
  
“Who do you want to invite, Jensen?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Who do you want to come to the announcement party?”  
  
Jensen made his objections known. He didn’t want a party. He didn’t want an announcement made. He intended to keep the news and the reality a secret until the baby was born. And if he had his way, was his parting shot as he stormed out of the room, forever. Later, when Jensen had calmed down, Jared patiently informed him that the announcement party was an expected event, not something either of them could avoid. It was going to happen. Now who did Jensen want to invite? Did he want to tell his parents ahead of time, or wait until the formal announcement at the party? It had been extremely hard for Jared to keep the news from his family so far, but he had waited for the party, because such wonderful news deserved a party. His family--their families--were going to be overjoyed, and wasn’t it wonderful for the two of them to be bringing so much happiness to their families?  
  
Jensen refused to invite anyone. He refused to attend himself, but Jared made clear that wasn’t an option. He tried to talk Jensen into inviting his whole family and his friends to share the wonderful news, but Jensen was adamant. Jared was equally insistent that Jensen could not avoid being there--not even nausea and sickness could excuse him. He had to attend.   
  
They argued long past Jensen’s early bedtime, and Jared could see the fatigue beneath Jensen’s stubborn determination. But this was important, and Jared wouldn’t compromise this time. Finally, Jensen won as much as Jared was willing to concede. Jared’s friends and family would all be at the party to celebrate. Jared was to call and inform Jensen’s parents, and leave up to them how widely they shared the news. Jensen would appear at the party, but Jared would not insist he converse with anyone present. Most importantly to Jensen, nobody was allowed to touch him, and there would be no cameras or cell phones allowed. Jared thought Jensen was being incredibly silly, but on those terms, Jensen agreed without further fuss to appear at the party, to be there when the announcement was made, to be seen. Jared couldn’t budge him beyond that, but he’d work on it for the future. Because his parents would of course want to see Jensen often, to track the course of the pregnancy, to share the anticipation and the preparation for the arrival of their new grandchild. Jared was sure the Ackles would feel the same way, but he had to let Jensen handle his family the way he wished.  
  
  
It was a giddy afternoon, and Marta had once more surpassed her usual genius with the party food. Everyone suspected the reason for the party, but Jared was being cagey, even while the news was easily read in his dimples and blinding smile. Jensen was nowhere to be seen, but Jared had his promise, and exactly on the stroke of 2:00, the babble of conversation subsided and, in an eerie throwback to their previous party, Jensen stood on the stair landing, dressed in the clothing he had worn when he left the Ceiver Home, and had worn only once since then. He met no one’s gaze; his stare was unfocused and aimed above the heads of everyone there. Jared crossed the room and climbed to stand at Jensen’s side, one arm about his waist as he faced the people assembled in their house and told them he and Jensen were expecting a child. A cheer went up, and glasses were raised, toasts were given. Jared’s smile was blinding, and he hugged Jensen to him, kissed his cheek.   
  
Jensen stood unmoved and unmoving. When Jared dropped his arm, he stepped away toward the second floor, leaving the party behind. “Jensen?“ He stopped, but he didn’t turn, didn’t meet Jared’s eyes. “Stay? Please? This is for you, too. For us, for the baby.” He shook his head and left Jared alone on the landing. Jared waited until he heard the bedroom door close before he shook off the wistful feeling and turned to rejoin the celebration.   
  
Jensen slipped out of the ceiver’s clothing and hung it in the guest room closet. He hadn’t wanted it in the closet he shared with Jared, so it was here, with a few of Jensen’s own things he hadn’t moved over yet. He put on the jeans and tee he’d worn in here to change, and was lacing up his sneakers when the door opened and one of Jared’s cousins smiled tipsily at him.   
  
“Oh, excuse me!” she grinned. “I was looking for the little girls’ room!” He stood and pointed toward the en suite, but her gaze fastened on him, and she obviously didn’t care about the bathroom. She greedily took in every detail as she came closer, her gaze on his crotch and his belly. Her hand went out to pat at his stomach. “I remember what those early months are like. Whoopsing every time you even smell food, right?” He ducked away and around her, not bothering to answer. She might think him rude, and report his behavior to Jared; he didn’t care. He wouldn’t be pawed, he wouldn’t be gawked at, and he would not stand still and listen to baby talk. He left her and darted down the hall to the door at the end, slipped through and latched it behind him.   
  
He had ordered the lockset, had it delivered and installed it himself. He hadn’t known why at the time, but he had felt the need of a place where he could have a locked door between him and the rest of the world. He was glad now he’d listened to that impulse. He leaned against the locked door and heard the cousin in the hall, calling for him. Let her. Let the whole swarm of them come looking. He wouldn’t dance to their tune. Let Jared entertain them--they were his friends and family, nothing to do with Jensen. He let his knees buckle, and sat down on the floor, his back against the door. His grandmother’s quilt spilled out of a box and he reached for it, wrapping it around himself. He lay down on the carpet, the murmur of the crowd below a distant, muted thing. Eventually he fell asleep.

 

 


	5. More Than Words

** **   
  


  
**SIXTEEN**   


  
Jared tried, he did. But every time he reached for Jensen in bed, Jensen shrugged him off, rolled away, muttered at him. He was beginning to feel rejected, but when he called to ask Mark about it the doctor laughed, and assured him it was normal. Jensen’s hormones were not only making him nauseous and food-avoidant, they were suppressing his libido as well. They were in the second trimester now, though, and any minute things should change. Jensen’s appetite should not only return but increase dramatically, and his appetite for sex should return in voracity, too. Jared couldn’t wait, frankly. It was hard to offer cuddles and comfort and have to repress his own desires; it was even harder to have every overture rejected, even the simple comfort of an undemanding touch.  
  
He looked his fill, however, whenever he could without setting off Jensen’s touchy temper. Change was still not apparent in clothes, but naked, Jensen’s waist had thickened noticeably. His belly was starting to round out a bit, and Jared ached to cup his hand over that curve where their child lay, growing larger and stronger every day. But earlier events had cautioned him against it, so he said nothing, and appeared not to notice. He caught Jensen staring, though, one morning after his shower. He had been toweling dry and stopped suddenly, studying the changing contours of his body. Then he turned from the mirror, threw the towel on the rod and dressed, as usual.  
  
A couple of nights later, Jared had come up an hour after Jensen had already gone up to bed, and found their bed empty. A light shone from the guest room door, and Jared peeked in to find Jensen sitting up in the bed, reading. “Jensen?”  
  
“Hey, Jared.”  
  
“What are you doing in here, man?”  
  
“Um.” He closed the book, and met Jared’s gaze. “I thought both of us would sleep better in separate rooms,” he said. “I’m up and down all night long, and you don’t get your rest. You’re a spider monkey, and you’re hot, and I feel confined, and every time I try to sleep on my side of the bed, I just wake up with you glommed onto me again.” He looked embarrassed and sheepish, but he wasn’t backing down. “I’m not mad, or anything like that. I just thought both of us could use some rest.”  
  
Disappointment and loss spiked through Jared, but he nodded. “Sure, Jen. However you’re most comfortable.”  
  
Jensen grinned. “That’s not to say we can’t have sleepovers and stuff,” he waggled an eyebrow suggestively. “Once in a while.”  
  
Jared laughed in relief. “Yeah, okay.” His eyebrows went up. “Like tonight?”  
  
But Jensen shook his head with an apologetic sigh. “Nah. I’m about dead on my feet. Maybe tomorrow?”  
  
Jared smiled to mask his disappointment, then stepped close enough to kiss Jensen. “Hold you to that,” he said. “Open or closed?” he asked, pausing at the door.  
  
“Leave it open,” Jensen grinned. “I might have nightmares. Or you might.”  
  
  
In a few days, Jensen’s clothes had all been moved from the closet and drawers in the master bedroom to the guest room. It happened during the day while Jared was at work, and by the time he discovered it, it was done. He stepped into the guest room one evening after changing out of his work clothes, and was surprised to find the dresser mirror draped in what looked like a sheet. Curious, he crossed to the bathroom door, and saw another length of fabric tacked up to cover the mirror over the vanity. A shaving mirror on an adjustable arm had been fixed to the wall beside the sink. It rotated; one side reflected normally, the other magnified. Jensen was obviously using it to shave. Jared was puzzled, but he heard Jensen calling, so he left without further investigation or speculation.  
  
They had some “sleepovers” as Jensen called them, but they were in the guest room, in Jensen’s bed, rather than in the big master bed they had both shared before. Jensen had regained his appetite for sex, and pursued and “conquered” Jared on several occasions, though he hadn’t let Jared take the lead in sex lately. Jared was fine with that; he was happy with their re-found connection, glad that the hormones seemed to have settled.  
  
Jared woke on Saturday; Jensen wasn’t in his room. Jared hadn’t been down to the weight room since last weekend, so he put on sweats and an old tank top and grabbed a towel, nodded at Marta as he went through the laundry room. He could hear Jensen running on the treadmill, as he reached the door he saw a Kurosawa film playing on the flat screen. There was something different about the room. It took a second before he registered the cream colored drapes drawn over the mirrored wall opposite the high windows. What--?  
  
The TV was muted, and Jensen slowed the treadmill to a stop. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey. What’s with the curtains?”  
  
“Oh, we get a lot of glare in the afternoons. I had them installed on Thursday. You like?”  
  
“Um. Well, it’s not something I’d have thought of. I mean, you want to check your form when you work out, right? Make sure you’re working on the right muscles, that kind of thing?”  
  
“Sure,” Jensen nodded, wiping his face with the towel around his neck as he crossed to the door. “Here.” He flipped a switch, and the curtains slid back, almost noiseless, revealing the mirror. Jensen smiled as he left the weight room. “There you go. Turn off the movie, would you? I’m going for a swim.” Jared checked the wall; the double plate for the switches to the two banks of overhead lights had been replaced by a triple switchplate, the extra switch controlling the curtains. The curtains that now lay in unobtrusive folds at the sides of the mirrored wall, which reflected no more glare than it had ever done before. Jared shook his head, puzzled, as he stepped onto the treadmill himself and un-muted the TV. It had been a while since he’d watched this movie. He might as well finish it.  
  
It was later, when he turned from replacing the free weights on the rack and caught sight of his own profile, that the sudden revelation came to Jared about Jensen’s issue with mirrors.  
  
  
“You know you’re gorgeous, right?” Jared enveloped Jensen from behind, wrapping his arms around him, pressing his groin, belly, and chest up tight against Jensen’s back while he nosed along Jensen’s neck and behind his ear, stroked a hand down Jensen’s front, his hand falling low to cup the swell of Jensen’s belly.  
  
Jensen curled away from him, slipping out of his arms, and away from his reach. “Not in the mood right now, Jared.” He threw Jared an apologetic grin. "Can I grab you something from the kitchen?”  
  
Jared grabbed his wrist, keeping Jensen from sliding away from him. Again. “Man, we have to talk.”  
  
The smile vanished, and the temperature of the room dropped in an instant. “No, Jared. We really don’t.” Jensen tugged, but Jared’s fingers stayed clamped around his wrist. “Don’t, man. Let me go.”  
  
“You can’t keep running away from this, Jensen,” Jared ducked a little, seeking Jensen’s eyes. “You have to deal with it, and sooner would be better than later.”  
  
“Deal with what?”  
  
“The fact that you’re pregnant, that we’re having a baby. A _baby_ , Jensen, yours and mine. We’re going to be parents.”  
  
Stock still now, the blood having drained from his face, Jensen suddenly looked ill, and older than his years. “It’s a hard thing to miss, Jared. I can‘t exactly escape the reality.”  
  
“But you want to. You won’t look at yourself, because then you won’t have to acknowledge that you’re pregnant. You won’t talk about the baby. You won’t read the books Mark gave us on pregnancy and birth, or the stuff I’ve brought home about babies and child-rearing. You act like if you ignore it, it’s not true, it won’t happen.”  
  
Still grasping Jensen’s wrist, he shook him a little, gently. “It’s happening.” He crouched a little, trying to get a look at Jensen’s eyes, which at the moment were resolutely shut. “It’s a wonderful thing, Jen. It’s almost a miracle. You need to try and be happy about it, just a little.”  
  


  
* * *

  
He wore the "ceiver suit", as he privately called it, to his command appearances at the monthly family gatherings. One of the cousins took a picture of him with her phone as he stood for his impassive few minutes on the stair landing. He glared at Jared, who rushed to grab the phone and delete the picture, over the cousin's protests. Privately, Jared agreed; he would have loved to have pictures of Jensen at every stage of his pregnancy, but Jensen's deal was no pictures, or no appearances, and Jared knew he meant it.  
  
The rest of the time Jensen spent in sweatpants and increasingly large and sloppy tees and hoodies--he even swiped a few of Jared's button down shirts. He took his iPod to checkups, and listened to the band’s new demo while Mark asked questions and Jared answered them, and asked a few of his own. The two of them oohed and ahhed when they lubed up Jensen's belly and slid the thing through the goo for the ultrasound. Jared tried to show him the blurry hard copy, but Jensen just looked away, and tried not to care about Jared's hurt expression. Mark tried to hand Jensen printouts and more booklets, and Jensen just let Jared reach for them. He'd be the one to read them anyway, if they got read.  
  
Jensen was lying on the exam table, eyes closed, nodding to Jason's solo when a cool instrument was pressed to his belly. Mark tapped his arm, twice, insistently. "Jensen." When Jensen looked at him, the doctor offered the earpieces of the stethoscope. "Here, put these in instead. It's time you hear your baby's heartbeat."  
  
"It's amazing, Jen!" Jared was beaming, ear to ear. "He's really going to town. He's probably been listening to your music."  
  
Jensen tucked his iPod earbuds back in. "Nah, I'll pass."

  
* * *

  
Jared could hear noises overhead when he pulled into the garage. He went quickly inside to find Marta. She was in the kitchen, both arms wrapped tightly about herself, not doing anything, which was highly unusual for her.  
  
"He's been like this for the last hour," she told Jared. "Yelling and throwing things."  
  
"Did he say anything to you? Did you speak to him before you called me?"  
  
"No, sir. I don't think he saw me. I backed out pretty quickly. I was a little afraid to confront him myself. I thought it would be better if you dealt with him."  
  
Jared gave his housekeeper a quick hug. "You did exactly right, Marta. Do you want to leave now? You've certainly dealt with enough unpleasantness this afternoon."  
  
She shook her head. "I'll stay, Jared. Until he's...feeling better, at least. In case either of you needs something."  
  
The dimples made a quick appearance. "Thank you."  
  
He shucked off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his sleeves as he ran up the stairs. As he reached the same level as the commotion, the noises got louder. He could hear Jensen shouting, and the occasional crash and bang of things being shoved or thrown. Jared reached the door at the end of the hall, took a steadying breath, and tapped sharply on the door. "Jensen?"  
  
There was no answer except sudden silence. "Jensen, I'm coming in."  
  
The door opened onto a disaster area of files and photographs pulled from their open boxes, pages scattered over the floor, the desk, the table. One of the bookcases was overturned, books spilled from it and from the one that still stood, scattered over the floor like a lumpy carpet. Two lamps lay on the floor, one obviously broken, dents in both their shades. A print Jensen loved hung aslant on the wall, its glass shattered, and the carving that had held pride of place on the desk lay on the floor halfway across the room, a deep gouge in the drywall showing how hard it had been thrown. Both chairs were overturned, one had obvious damage. Jensen stood at the other end of the room, each breath rasping harshly. His eyes met Jared's, but it didn't stop him from raising the model ship over his head with both hands and dashing it with force onto the desktop.  
  
Jared moved just a second too late to stop the destruction. "Jensen--"  
  
 _"I can't do this!"_  
  
He spun on his heel and disappeared into the next room. Jared crossed the space quickly. He had to get hands on his ceiver, get arms around him, hold him close and safe.  
  
The door to the second room opened onto dimness, the shades and curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun. Jared moved to the doorway and looked inside. Jensen stood in the gloom, back to him. "I can't do this," he said again, his voice as wrecked as the room outside.  
  
Jared moved toward him like he was pulled on a line, up behind him, arms going around him, pulling Jensen in against his chest, rocking him a little, holding him tight. He felt Jensen sag against him, the tension in his body soften, and he murmured, "Yes, you can."  
  
Jensen wrenched away, stalking away from him, putting distance between them. "Jensen, you're not in this alone, you know. I'm with you, every step of the way, our families, your medical team. You're not alone. It's going to be okay."  
  
"Oh really, Jared?" the sarcasm could have cut stone. "Well I need a break. How about you carry this for a while, huh? Since we're in this together. Since you're with me all the way. How 'bout that?"  
  
"Jensen."  
  
"Don't."  
  
"What can I do?" Jared asked quietly. "How can I make it better? What do you want me to do?" He put every ounce of love he felt for this man into his voice and his presence, wanting Jensen to feel it, believe it, and believe that it would be all right.  
  
He slumped, the tension leaving him quickly. He swayed a little on his feet and Jared surged forward to support him, only to be halted by Jensen's hand raised to stop him getting closer. "You can't."  
  
"Jen--"  
  
"Jared, you can't. No one can. This is--this just has to play out, and I have to let it."  
  
"It's gonna be okay, man. We're going to take good care of you. You and the baby. It's going to be fine." He couldn't help letting some of his own anticipation slip into his voice, and at some level he still hoped it would be contagious, that Jensen would come to be excited and happy about the baby, if not about the pregnancy. "It's going to be so great when he's here--you're going to forget about all this pregnancy stuff. You'll see."  
  
His ceiver stood unmoving in the wreckage of his office. "Yeah. Till next time."  
  
Jared stirred, not quite sure if he could move to touch Jensen or not. "Have you eaten? I'll bet you're hungry, right? Dinner. That's what we need--"  
  
"No. I'm not hungry."  
  
Jared bent down to set a table back on its legs, to begin to straighten some of the mess.  
  
"Leave it."  
  
"It won't take long if we do it together, and I can get somebody in tomorrow to do repairs--"  
  
"I said leave it."  
  
"Jensen--"  
  
"Jared, for gods' sake, get out!"  
  
He stared, searching for the words or action to make this better, finding nothing.  
  
"I'm all right. I'm tired, okay? Just--get out and let me sleep."  
  
He didn't want to, but Jensen needed to win at something today. Jared went.  
  


**SEVENTEEN**   


  
The whisk broom swept the bits of wood and fabric and waxed thread into the dustpan. Jensen's face twisted at the loss of the model he'd spent so much time putting together. It was a microcosm of the whole room; the destruction was pretty complete. But the model...  
  
He put down the brush and touched a spar he'd carved of balsa, sanded carefully, stained, and waxed before installing it on the mast and attaching rigging and sail. Looking at the ruined pieces, the ship was a symbol of the future, the hopes and plans he'd had, before--well, before. Smashed, ruined, gone, nothing to be rescued, no pieces to be worked into a new vessel, a new future. Standing still, he felt it again, the flutter low, deep inside his belly that he'd taken for indigestion or mild gas the first few intermittent times he'd felt it over the last few days. He'd only realized yesterday what that sensation was, and his stomach rolled now with the inescapable recognition.  
  
If he could only fight and smash and claw a way out of this the way he'd laid about him last night. It had been a release, of sorts, but in the aftermath he was drained, spent, every bit of color and hope leached away till everything was grey and dim. The only thing that stood out sharp in his mind was the fear of what he would inescapably become, the pain and blood at the end of it, and beyond that, the bonds of servitude and self-erasure, with repeat performances as often as his body was capable, for as long as it endured.  
  
He was past the capacity for tears. He was tired of being scared, being full of rage and having nowhere to spend it, tired of having no control over any part of his life, not even what he ate or how often. It was all just too much, and he just stopped: stopped fighting, stopped processing, stopped thinking.  
  
Jared found him sitting in the dark, hours later, when he got home late from work.

* * *

  
Her patient stood in the doorway for a moment before he closed the door behind him and took a step into the room. He glanced at her and then away, and waited. Visibly pregnant, perhaps as much as five months, he was tall, broad shouldered, with handsome features.  
  
"Come in. Jensen?" He nodded. She gestured toward the comfortable upholstered armchairs, each with its own ottoman in case a patient felt relaxed enough to put his or her feet up. He chose a chair and sat down. He moved well, no stiffness or awkwardness to his body language. He put his hands on the chair's arms and looked up to meet her gaze.  
  
"I'm Doctor Simons." She paused for acknowledgement and he gave her a brief nod. "I understand you've been having some trouble?"  
  
He didn't rise to the bait. His gaze had already moved away after her introduction, and fell somewhere on the floor ahead of his feet. He didn't survey the room and its furnishings with interest or curiosity; he didn't look out the window. He didn't examine and read the bank of diplomas and certificates on the wall behind her desk. He sat, apparently relaxed, with his gaze lowered, and simply waited. The onus was on her to get things started, to establish a rapport.  
  
"Jared tells me you seem despondent."  
  
No reaction.  
  
"He says you refuse to leave the house, or to see visitors when they come by." She paused, but there was still no response. "Jensen?"  
  
His eyes lifted to her face, and then he looked away again, refusing to engage. Time for the big guns. "Your family is distraught because you won't see them. They're worried about you. They miss you. Jared has gone out of his way to assure them he isn't preventing you from contacting them. So they're puzzled and hurt that you have chosen to shut them out."  
  
She didn’t detect a flinch either in his posture or his expression. His fingers didn't tighten on the chair arms. "Jensen? Jensen, why won't you see your parents?"  
  
She waited. A direct question put the ball in his court. After a moment or two, he looked at her, and away again. "Can you talk to them? My family?"  
  
"Yes." She was honest. "But it would be much better if you did that yourself."  
  
He didn't bother answering her.  
  
"Tell them something for me. Tell them they need to let me go."  
  
Her hackles rose a bit in apprehension. "Why should they do that? They love you. They want to see you, to be a part of your life the way they've always been. You're still their son, their brother. You are part of them and their lives. Why should they let you go just because your circumstances have changed?"  
  
There was a pause, and then he sat a little straighter, his hands returning to the arms of the chair, taking hold. He took a breath.  
  
"The son, the brother they knew? He's gone. His life is over. I'd…I'd like it if they remember me, who I was, that I loved them. If--if they could tell my friends, because Chris has been calling and I know he's mad at me. But if they could just--" He gripped the chair arms, took another breath, visibly settled himself down. "That person doesn't exist any longer, and it would make me happy if they would just remember him as he was, and let me go." His gaze flickered to her and settled. "Can you do that? Because every time I've tried, my mom starts crying, and I just can't-- I can't." He let his hope show, and it disturbed her to take it from him.  
  
"I don't think that's the best course of action right now, Jensen. I suggest we wait and talk about some of the things you've said here. If you still feel that way in the future, we can readdress the issue."  
  
His gaze fell away from her, and she read disappointment and sadness in his face, even though he schooled his features to blankness quickly and well.  
  
"Will you let me set up a time for your folks to visit you? They are really anxious to see you and know for themselves you're all right."  
  
"No."  
  
"Jensen, they think you blame them for the changes in your life. That it's their fault, everything that's happened. That's hardly fair."  
  
"It's not their fault. Not any of it. They shouldn't think that--or believe that I think that."  
  
"Then tell them." She could see he was wavering. "If you won't see them, then call them. Talk to them on the phone. At least let them hear your voice."  
  
She waited him out, and at last he spoke. "I haven't called because I wanted them to get over missing me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I disappeared completely, even the sound of my voice, I thought it would be easier."  
  
"Well, it's not. Have you forgotten them? The sound of your dad's voice? MacKenzie's laugh? Your mom's arms around you?" She knew she was using dirty tactics, but he needed something to blast him out of the apathy he'd sunk into. It was working, at least somewhat. His mouth twisted, and there were tears he refused to let fall.  
  
"No. I haven't forgotten. Those are things I remember every day. Things that make the next breath possible, the next mouthful of food, the next… I haven't forgotten."  
  
"So you'll call?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  


**EIGHTEEN**   


  
Jared was so horny he thought he'd explode, especially whenever he looked at Jensen. And he was looking at Jensen a lot. The man was beautiful; there was no other word for it. Gravid and slowed by the child he carried--Jared's child!--he retained much of the strength and grace he'd always had. He had kept to his exercise regimen, and Jared and Mark were careful to monitor his activity level, to make sure he didn't injure himself or the child by overdoing it.  
  
Jensen's appetite had remained low and disinterested, but he did try to eat as much as he could of what he was given. He just didn't seem to enjoy it. Nausea continued to plague him, too, so frequent small meals seemed to help with that. Heartburn played a part, so along with the things off his diet because of the pregnancy itself, the heartburn-producing foods were banned. It didn't leave a lot of variety, but Marta outdid herself making things attractive and palatable, and Jensen thanked her by eating at least some of everything. His face had leaned some, the strong bones of jaw and cheek more apparent since his weight had redistributed. His forearms and wrists, too, seemed finer, less muscled. Jared watched him closely--at times Jensen seemed to almost be melting away.  
  
He was still startlingly attractive, though, and all the more so because of the increasingly gravid belly that weighed his movements and slowed his step. Jared offered back rubs and foot rubs, and once getting his hands on that freckled skin, it was easy for those touches to become more seductive ones. But Jensen rejected his overtures, turning away with flat statements of fatigue.  
  
"Orgasms create endorphins, Jen," he coaxed. "It'll make you feel better, I promise. Let me, please." But Jensen just scooted toward the edge of the bed, levering himself up, refusing Jared's offered hand, and left the room. He edged away from all kinds of touches after that, which broke Jared's heart.  
  
Jared ached to hold him, to cup his belly and feel their child move, but Jensen wouldn't stay still for it; he slid out of Jared's arms and left him wanting: wanting sex, wanting to make Jensen feel better, wanting to share the growth of their baby. It was a void Jared had no way to fill.  
  
Jared was still determined to be a part of every facet of the pregnancy, and of Jensen's life. He took Jensen to appointments himself, and was in the room for the exams. He wasn't allowed to sit in on Jensen's sessions with Dr. Simons, but he booked a couple of hours with her for himself, to try and learn how to help Jensen as much as he could, and to understand what his ceiver was going through. He'd managed to arrange to take Jensen to every appointment so far except for two with Dr. Simons, and on those occasions Jeff was able to step in for him.  
  
Mark was pleased at how the pregnancy was progressing. Jared asked his questions, and Mark took the time to give thorough explanations, and to recommend further reading. The exams were brief, and Jensen had almost gotten over being embarrassed at having his body exposed, probed and prodded by one man in front of the other. He listened to his iPod, not bothering to acknowledge Mark's insistent requests and Jared's urging for him to listen to the heartbeat, to watch the ultrasound. He didn't refuse, he just ignored them, tuned them out, as he did his best to ignore the changes in his body.  
  
He still ran miles on the treadmill, even if he ran more slowly. Laps in the pool were a daily part of his routine, too. The water felt great--he could almost believe his body was his own while he was in the water. Jared expressed some concern that Jensen might be exercising too strenuously. Jensen wanted to know, "What else am I doing with my time, Jared?" Mark reassured them both that as long as Jensen felt well and his readings kept within the normal range, he was fine.  
  
He ate what Marta served him, as much of it as he could get down, and keep down. Nausea was still a problem. Even though he'd learned to accept it, it was no more pleasant than it had ever been. But he didn't want to hurt Marta's feelings. She took extra care to make his meals appealing, and she sat with him while he ate, often having her lunch at the same time so he didn't have to eat alone. Pregnancy seemed to have stolen his appetite, though, along with other things. Everything tasted like library paste and cardboard.  
  
Jensen continued to sleep in the guest room, the room he and Jared, and Marta too, referred to as Jensen's. Jared brought home shopping bags nearly every night, but after Jensen walked out of the room the first time Jared showed him the onesies and the little baseball outfit that he'd bought, if he brought home more baby stuff--and Jensen was sure that he did--he didn't make Jensen watch him unpack it.  
  
There had been furniture deliveries, but Marta had supervised, and Jensen had kept to the ruins of his office above the garage. He hadn't had the motivation to finish cleaning it up after the tantrum he'd thrown, and he forbade Marta or Jared to touch it. He'd get to it, he told them, when he decided what he wanted to do with the space.  
  


* * *

  
His pregnancy was further advanced; when he sat, his belly rounded out the t-shirt he wore, tightening it against the swell. As before, he rested his hands on the chair arms and chose not to meet her gaze.  
  
"How have you been?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Is the pregnancy causing you any problems? Indigestion? Discomfort?"  
  
"The doctor's tending to all that stuff," he responded, which wasn't an answer. "He and Jared are on top of everything."  
  
She watched him carefully for a beat. "And you're not?"  
  
"None of my business," he stated flatly, with a slight shrug.  
  
Ah. Okay. She took a careful breath and squared her shoulders for battle. Her voice was soft. "Jensen, it's your body, of course it's your business--"  
  
"No it's not."  
  
"What?"  
  
"This body. Isn't mine. I'm just breathing for it, feeding it, walking it around, keeping it clean for Repro. It belongs to them--they say what happens to it. I'm just...an unwilling passenger, along for the ride. Haven't you got that yet?" He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Yeah, well. I wanted to ask you about something."  
  
She was a little surprised. This was his first voluntary question. "Sure, if I can help."  
  
"Do they still perform prefrontal lobotomies?"  
  
She huffed a little laugh at the unexpected joke, but then met his gaze. He looked her dead in the eye and didn't crack the ghost of a smile. "You're not joking."  
  
"Think about it, doc. I'm your perfect candidate. I get to pop babies out as fast as Jared can do the honors and make Repro happy. I make Jared happy fucking like bunnies and raising his sprog, I make his family happy spreading the Padalecki genes. I make my family happy and finally relieve their guilt because I'm so fucking happy with how my life turned out. I get Repro off their case, wondering if they're going to try and help me if I decide to bolt--which I'll never do because I'm so fucking happy being a baby factory and milk cow. It solves everybody's problems, including mine. Where do I sign? And how soon can you schedule the procedure?"  
  
"You can't be serious."  
  
"Why not?" He met her gaze unflinching, something like hope in his eyes.  
  
"Jensen--you can do all that, without the sarcasm. You can do all those things, for real. You can make Jared and his family and your family happy. You can have sex with Jared and make babies and raise babies and make Repro happy, without brain surgery."  
  
"Yeah, everybody gets what they want, except me. It hurts so much and it never stops hurting. I hate everything. I hate every breath I take. I hate opening my eyes every morning because I'm still here, still breathing, still-- _pregnant_ , how creepy is that? I have no life."  
  
"You have an enviable life, you just refuse to accept it and adapt."  
  
"When are any of you going to understand that I can't do that on my own? I need help--"  
  
"That's why you're here."  
  
"No offense, doc, but talking about this shit isn't changing a damn thing--not the circumstances, and not my reaction to it. I need--I need out, or major drugs--which I can't have because of the pregnancy--or I need to carve that part of me out that thinks stopping breathing is better than living like this. I've done my research. I'll be happy, I'll be healthy, I'll do what I'm told and be good at it, since all that's required is get fucked, drop piglets, suckle them till they're walking and do it all over again ‘til my insides wear out and I fall over dead. I'll do it all with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and I'll never have another negative thought about Repro or pregnancy or childbirth or parasites clamped to my chest sucking me dry from the outside once they're done sucking the life out of me from the inside. I'll never miss driving my own car, having a career, thinking through a problem, winning at something, independence, making my own destiny, having a wife, or a girlfriend, or several. I probably won't remember having any of that, and I won't even think to want it. If I can't die, because I'd be letting Jared and my family down, then remove the part of me that wants to."  
  
"You know we can't do that. Honestly Jensen, I can't believe the heights of melodrama you've reached here today. We just need to work harder on acceptance and adapting to your new life."  
  
"It's not life. And it's not mine. And all the words in the world are never going to make either of those things true. So you're telling me no without even checking out the possibility? You think I'm hysterical, right? Over reacting, acting out?"  
  
She didn't respond and he nodded.  
  
"Right. So just wait the crazy out. It's probably just the pregnancy hormones anyway."  
  
"You know, you might have a point there. Your hormones probably are all over the place."  
  
He nodded, and sat back in his chair. She watched as his face drained of all animation. His hands loosely grasped the arms of the chair again; his focus was on the middle distance somewhere north of his knees. She made a few more conversational gambits, but he showed no indication he even heard her. At the end of the hour, there was a knock on the door, and Jared's brother stepped in, smiling an apology.  
  
"If you guys are done, I need to get him home. I have a meeting this evening I need to prepare for."  
  
"Yes," she told him, rising to her feet. "We're finished for today." Jensen stood too, facing the door but not moving toward it.  
  
"Jensen, I'll see you in two weeks. I'd like you to write something--a list, or maybe an essay, with positive things about your present life, and bring it with you. Okay?"  
  
He gave no indication he'd heard. But Jeff nodded and smiled again. "I'll make sure Jared knows he has an assignment," he told her. He moved aside and Jensen went toward the door, following Jeff out. The door closed behind them.  
  


  
* * *

  
Jensen had begun to have ideas for the bonus rooms. He suggested adding a stairway to access them from the garage, pool, and weight room, and Jared agreed. In fact, he said, he didn't know why that hadn’t been done when the rooms were added. He even sat down one evening and did a couple of architectural sketches of how the stairs could be added in, and Jensen picked the one he thought would work best. He called a couple of contracting firms the next day, got estimates, and with Jared's approval, had workmen out that week.  
  
Jensen made himself scarce, observing from a distance. He asked Marta to relay his questions and instructions. The equipment was set up on the patio, among the stacks of materials, and the men worked in the sun, muscles gleaming under a sheen of sweat as they measured and cut lumber and drywall, lifted and carried it inside. The door came, and was hung. And then another crew came to stain and finish the stairs, and paint the new wall. Jensen had helped Jason on his family's ranch, mending fences and building a shed; he remembered how it felt to do physical work, the satisfaction when it all came together. His dread of being seen in his present condition intensified. He concentrated on the end result, though, when the cleanup was finished and the workmen were gone. He made plans.  
  


  
* * *

  
At his next appointment Jensen took his customary chair, easing into the seat, a bit more clumsy with the noticeable increase in bulk. He didn't speak, or look at her.  
  
"Jensen, how've you been feeling?"  
  
"If you're having discomfort, whether from indigestion or joint pain, or whatever, you need to say something. There are things they can do to alleviate a lot of the discomfort."  
  
She waited, but he didn't answer her. She pressed on. "You know the baby's sex by now, of course. Is it a boy or a girl?"  
  
He gave no sign of having heard her. She couldn't let him get away with that. "Jensen? Is it a boy or a girl?"  
  
He didn't respond, but he couldn't evade her gaze. Forced to reply, he offered, "Jared says he'll be okay with either."  
  
"That's Jared, what about you?"  
  
"I have no preference," he told her.  
  
She made a note, and pressed on. "Have you guys got the nursery ready? How did you decorate it?"  
  
He shifted in the chair, just a little. She couldn't tell if it was pregnancy discomfort or his wanting to avoid the conversation. "Jared did all that. He's really into it, I guess."  
  
"So what did he choose? What does the room look like?" she asked, regarding him closely for his reaction.  
  
"I don't know. I haven't seen it."  
  
"Aren't you interested?"  
  
His gaze swung to her face, pinning her breathless, his beautiful green eyes empty of emotion. "Why would I be?"  
  
"Well, Jensen, it's your baby, yours and Jared's, your child, your little boy, or little girl. Surely you care what sort of environment you're welcoming him or her into?"  
  
"Look, Doc. It's Jared's kid, all right? Nothing to do with me. I'm just the bucket. Once I'm full they empty me out and I'm done. Until next time."  
  
His attempt to shock her into leaving off the questions worked, for a few minutes. She observed him as he sat, gazing at the floor. The taut fabric across his belly rippled as the child inside him moved. He showed no sign of having felt it, his hand did not stroke across his belly where the movement had been. He sat stony and unmoving, and apparently unmoved.  
  
"How do your folks feel about it? Are they hoping for a little boy? Or a girl?"  
  
He didn't answer at once. "You did call them, as you promised, right?"  
  
"Yeah, I called."  
  
"So, what do they say? Boy or girl?"  
  
"We don't talk about it. That's one of the rules. If I call them we don't talk about that. If they want to talk about that, they talk to Jared."  
  
  
She made notes on her pad, and watched him silently for a few minutes without his apparent awareness of her gaze. She didn't usually do this; her job was to lead the patient toward discovering his or her own understanding, and a patient-driven course of action. But Jensen had shut down. He wasn't responding to her, nor, according to Jared, to anyone or anything else. It was as if he believed that defaulting on responsibility for his own health, sanity, and behavior meant that his life would be suspended, the events he dreaded would never come to pass, that he'd never have to deal with them, incorporate them into his reality, and move on to what his future held for him. She knew he was present and aware. He was just using this dissociation as camouflage, hoping his fate would pass him by. She couldn't let that illusion stand.  
  
  
"Jensen, since talking with you several times and hearing what you have to say, and what you won't say, or refuse to talk about, it's pretty clear that you think because this has happened to you that your life is over."  
  
He didn't respond. She hadn't really expected him to.  
  
"You know, most people have some sort of life-changing event in their lives. They're usually big things, and they can be good changes, or they can be devastating changes that require a person to completely restructure his life, and learn to think of himself in a new way. "  
  
He sat, refusing to acknowledge her or what she was saying, but she knew he was listening. He had no choice.  
  
"What if you'd been in a car crash? What if you'd lost limbs, been paralyzed? What if you discovered you had some chronic, debilitating disease? You would have adapted. You would work hard to learn to walk on prosthetic legs, to use a prosthetic arm. You would learn to navigate life from a wheelchair, to depend on friends and strangers and a dog to guide you if you were blinded. You'd adapt, you'd learn, and you'd negotiate life on the new terms you were dealt. And on the other side of the learning process you could look back and acknowledge that your life didn't go as you expected it would, that you are not the same person you were before the dramatic event changed your life. But you would also know you're a stronger person than you ever were before you faced that challenge."  
  
He hadn't moved, the only way she could tell he was listening was that his hands had tightened on the arms of the chair, his fingers white at the knuckles and the nails digging into the upholstery.  
  
"Jensen. This event may seem devastating to you, and to the image of yourself you've always had. You're _not_ the person you were before all this began, it's true. But your life has certainly not ended. It's changed. And a baby isn't a tragedy, it's a blessing. Your body is producing a child, Jensen! You're making the next generation, not just for your family and Jared's, but for the world! This is an amazing thing, a privilege. It's a huge change, and it is frightening in a lot of ways. But it's also a profoundly joyful and productive thing you're doing. It doesn't necessarily change who you are, the son your parents raised. But it does affect how you interact with the world, and how the world sees you. It's change, Jensen. And it's hard. But it's not an ending. It's a wonderful beginning. I hope you can come to see and accept that."  
  


* * *

  
Jensen missed his next appointment. And though he attended the following one, he eased himself into his customary chair, refused to meet her gaze, and was completely nonresponsive. They had one final meeting before his pregnancy ended, but it was no more productive than the previous one. Dr. Simons made recommendations that, before he and Jared attempted a second pregnancy, Jensen be given trial courses of anti-psychotics, mood elevators, and possibly a course of ECT, to realign his brain chemistry and pull him out of the fugue state he seemed determined to cling to. As far as she knows, to date her recommendations have not been followed.

 


	6. More Than Words

** **   
  


**NINETEEN**   


  
He thought it was cramps, something he'd eaten, since nothing seemed to sit comfortably in his stomach anymore. He felt vaguely nauseous--again, nothing new or unfamiliar--but never quite sick enough to throw up. He paced up and down his office for a while, then went outside. Walking on the grass in the shade felt better, by a little. He eyed the pool, and decided the water would be buoyant enough to relieve some of the cramps, so he eased in, trying not to cringe in shock at the chill. He adapted soon enough, and the water did ease the weight of his stomach. He was more than perturbed to see the water ripple in response to a particularly vicious poke from its occupant. He eased down to sit on the steps at the shallow end, and tried to relax in the sun. Jared found him there, shivering. He'd been alternating between hot flashes and bouts of chills for a while now, but the cramps seemed to have gotten worse, and he hadn't been able to summon the motivation to get to his feet and get out of the water.  
  
As Jared helped him to his feet and then up the stairs to the apron of the pool, Jensen registered an ache in his back that went down the backs of both legs all the way to his knees. An ache so deep and heavy that it made him dizzy, even before the ache clamped down, moving to tighten around his abdomen, squeezing in an inescapable grip. He stood in the circle of Jared's strong arms, unable to move on his own, while Jared uttered a stream of incomprehensible words into his hair and his neck. The ache eased off, back to a bearable presence in his back and legs, but the echo of how bad it had been lingered, and almost before he drew breath enough to start to recover, he felt it getting stronger again.  
  
His knees buckled at the onslaught and he would have fallen had Jared not had hold of him. Jared led him toward the house, and into the garage. They had to stop twice before Jared helped him up into the car and buckled his belt. Jared ran around the car, got in and cranked the engine while he grabbed his phone.  
  
"Marta? Jensen's in labor. I found him in the pool, and he seems to be pretty far along. We're on the way to the hospital now, just so you know what's going on. I'll call you when I know more, okay? Thanks."  
  
Jared had Mark on speed dial, and he was able to get straight through to him. Mark promised to meet them and to have things streamlined for an urgent delivery by the time Jared got Jensen to the hospital. He was as good as his word. A gurney and a team of nurses was waiting at the entrance, and they made quick work of getting Jensen transferred from the car.  
  
Jared strode alongside the gurney, Jensen's hand held tight. "It's gonna be okay, Jensen. I know it hurts. I'm sorry, man, but we're almost there. Mark's here already, and it's not going to be long, now. Just trust him, okay? And I’m gonna be right there with you the whole time."  
  
Which was a lie, Jensen thought, when he was able to think, because the first thing that happened when the elevator doors opened was that somebody peeled Jared away and Jensen was rushed headlong toward some unknown destination, some fate he didn't want and would have done anything to avoid. They had strapped him down, which was a good thing. Otherwise he'd have rolled off this damned table and--  
  
Another contraction took him and he lost the thought. Jared. Where was Jared? He promised. He promised to be here. Where--  
  
"Jensen?" Not Jared, it was Mark. "Jensen, we're going to transfer you now, just hold tight. We know what we're doing."  
  
What? Transfer? He felt himself lifted, moved sideways and lowered again before he could think about it. It made him dizzy, but another contraction hit and by now he was screaming. Was that his voice?  
  
"Jensen." Jared. That was Jared.  
  
"Jensen, I'm here. Mark's here, and it looks like we're getting ready to do this."  
  
"Can't." He rolled his head from side to side. Did that come out? Was that his voice? "Can't," he insisted.  
  
"Yes you can."  
  
Damn Jared anyway. "That's what you always--" The contraction took his breath, and when he got it back, all he could do was whisper. "Don't want to."  
  
"I know," Jared's hand stroked his hair. A cool damp cloth wiped his face. "But we don't have a choice. You can do this, man. I promise."  
  
Jared's last words were lost in Jensen's scream of pain. Jensen clenched down tight on his hand and hung on. "Drugs, Jared," he yanked on Jared's hand to bring his face down to the same level. "Give me drugs and cut the damned thing out of me," the next contraction hit before he could finish the sentence. "Please!"  
  
"Now, now," Mark's calm, reassuring voice penetrated the tension in the room. Jensen hated him and wanted to smash his smug handsome face in. "Jensen, you're doing fine. There'll be no need for drugs, nor for cutting."  
  
All Jensen could manage in answer was a "Fuck you!" in a scream-roughened rasp, before he was screaming again.  
  
"Mark," Jared couldn't stand watching and listening to Jensen in so much pain. "Can't you give him _something_? He's hurting pretty bad."  
  
"It'll be over before you know it, Jared. And once he sees this little man, he'll forget all about the pain."  
  
  
There was a lot of blood. And a lot more screaming. Jensen cursed both of them many times. Many, many times, before the baby made his appearance, and in a few seconds he was screaming, too. Weighed and wiped down a bit and wrapped in a blanket, the baby was laid in Jared's arms as Mark finished tidying Jensen up. He stood close beside the delivery table and leaned down so Jensen could see the baby's face.  
  
"Look, Jen. Look what we did. He's perfect!" Jensen didn't reply. His eyes closed and his head rolled on the pillow, facing the blank wall. If Jared hadn't known better he would have thought it was just fatigue.  
  


  
* * *

  
The light for room 807 blinked, and Sarah went to see what the patient wanted. As she approached, she could hear the baby howling--either wet or hungry. The parent probably wanted help or advice addressing either problem. Sarah knew it was his first child, and smiled at how anxious first timers were. The room was dark and she thought at first the bed was empty, but a voice rusty with tension and complaint said, "Can you move that thing out of here? I can't sleep for the noise, and the smell is about to gag me."  
  
"Well," she flipped on the overbed light and the man ducked away, blinking. She made sure the cheer in her voice didn't falter. "He needs a change, that will take care of the smell. And he probably needs feeding. That will take care of the noise."  
  
"Fine." The man turned his back to her and the light. "You just take it somewhere else and take care of that, okay? I need sleep."  
  
Sarah was a little nonplussed by the attitude. She pulled the covers down off the man's shoulders and stepped on the control to raise the head of the bed so he could sit to nurse. "You're the parent. It's your job to 'take care of that.’" He didn't reply, and as he began to sit up, she backed away a little, intending to fetch the baby for him. But he slipped his feet into the waiting slippers and struggled into his robe. Instead of heading for the cradle, though, he grabbed his pillow and started for the door.  
"Wait--where are you going?"  
  
"If that's staying here," he muttered, "I'm not. I need sleep." And he walked out. A little slow and unsteady on his feet, but determined. She followed him, confused and a little alarmed. "You can't--where do you think you're going?"  
  
"The lounge?" he asked. "Somewhere there's a couch? I don't care, as long as I don't have to listen to--that. Or smell it."  
  
"Wait--Mr., um." She stumbled over the unfamiliar and hyphenated name. He didn't offer her any aid with it, but he did pause. There was no challenge in his gaze, but there was no doubt he was serious. "I suppose I can move the baby into the nursery until morning. But only until morning. I'll give him a bottle of water, and that should hold him for now. But he'll need feeding in a few hours."  
  
He didn't respond, so she smiled and tried another tack, hoping to appeal to his own comfort. "And you'll probably be uncomfortable by then and ready for him to relieve some of that pressure, too."  
  
"Great," he muttered. "Thanks." He didn't move, and she realized he was waiting for her to retrieve the bassinet and move it out. She did that, noticed particularly that he looked away as she rolled the baby past, waiting till they were in the hall before he moved back into the room. She waited to check as he snapped off the light and climbed into the bed, fumbling for the control to flatten the mattress.  
  
  
  
"Jensen!" Jared's panicked voice roused him from the depths of dreamless sleep. He cracked his eyelids and then squinched them tight closed again. The room was flooded with sunlight. Too bright.  
  
"What?" he mumbled.  
  
"Where's the baby? What happened? Is he sick? Jensen!" He felt the head of the bed start to rise and fumbled for the controls.  
  
"Nnnuh!" he slapped at the button to stop the movement. "I don' know. Go ask nurses. Lea' me 'lone. Sleeeeep, Jared. Please."  
  
His eyes were stubbornly still shut, but he felt Jared spin and dash out of the room. There was going to be hell to pay, but meanwhile, he could grab another few minutes of precious sleep. They didn't last long. He could hear the squalling as it approached, and his breasts ached in response. He could feel the wetness welling from the nipples, soaking his shirt. The squalling was in the room now, and he could smell Jared's aftershave. Hell, he could practically feel the angry indignation radiating off Jared.  
  
"Jensen!" Jared had never snapped his name out like that. Hell, he was in it now.  
  
"What?"  
  
He'd been right. Jared's face was all concern and disbelief and indignation as he cradled the bundle in his left arm while it yelled its imperious demands. "He's _hungry!_ "  
  
"Your kid, your problem," Jensen yawned, completely unaffected by either the yowling or Jared's upset. But of course Jared wasn't put off in the slightest. He started toward the bed, bending to lower the bundle toward Jensen.  
  
"You bring that thing near me," Jensen growled, pushing himself up to sitting and preparing to launch himself off the bed. "And I'll strangle it. Or throw it across the room."  
  
That had the desired effect, at last. This was Jensen's line in the sand, and he wasn't prepared to back down from it. "I can't sleep for the noise, Jared, and I can smell it from here. Take it back where you got it."  
  
"But Jensen, you have to feed him--"  
  
"No. I don't. And short of tying me down and strapping a pump on me, there's no way you can make me. And that's going to take more than you to do it, even in the shape I'm in right now." He saw Jared register the wet patches on his shirt. Jensen could smell the milk, and it nauseated him, as much as the poop and pee smells did. He grabbed the robe and pulled it on, wrapping it tight about him to hide the stains. Jared stood there, jiggling the bundle a little to try and quiet it, as he worked through Jensen's ultimatum.  
  
"Jen," he said softly. "He's your son. He needs you."  
  
"It's your sprog, Jared. You wanted it, you got it. Nothing to do with me. And it's still yowling, so I suggest you find another solution for that, 'cause I'm not it. I can smell it, and if you don't get it out of here right now I really may puke."  
  
Jared stepped close enough to reach the nurse call button and away again. She must have been lurking outside the door, because her appearance was almost instantaneous. Jared laid the bundle in her arms and tucked the blanket a little closer around it. "Go ahead and give him a bottle," he told her. "And keep him in the nursery for now. We have things to talk about."  
  
She nodded, and the noise receded as she went away.  
  
Jared moved the visitors' chair closer to the bedside and sat down. He didn't try to touch Jensen, but he regarded him with a soft and loving look. "How can you say he's nothing to do with you, Jen? He's half your genes. You're why he's here; you're the miracle that made him possible. He's ours—yours and mine. He's your little boy, and he needs you."  
  
Jensen didn't reply for long minutes, and Jared let him take as long as he needed, and once Jensen started, Jared didn't interrupt. He didn't meet Jared's eyes, and his voice was level, unemotional when he did speak. He had obviously been thinking about this for a while.  
  
"This is not the life I wanted to lead. You know, I'd have offed myself dozens of times over, except for one thing." His gaze sharpened from middle distance to here in the room and swung to focus on Jared. "You, Jared."  
  
Jared's breath caught at the intensity of that gaze. "You made me fall in love with you. And I do, I love you. So much that if I were free, I would still stay, if you wanted me."  
  
Jared shifted, a response on his lips, but Jensen shook his head and Jared subsided to listen.  
  
"I'm legally required to bear you offspring. So I'll be your bucket, your broodmare." Jensen looked away again, back to the unfocused distance. "God knows you've been as caring and supportive as anyone could possibly be through all this," he glanced at Jared then, meeting his eyes, attempting to soften truth with a joke, "Even though it was all your fault to begin with." At Jared's sheepish smile he glanced away again. "Even though the thought of sex has just been…well, disgusting, and for a while all I've been able to feel was anger, I couldn't help loving you. I don't think that's ever going to change. Sometimes I get a thrill looking at girls in bikinis, I do. But you're it for me. Despite _everything_ , I fell in love with you, and you're the one I want."  
  
He fixed Jared with an immovable gaze, and waited for him to say something.  
  
Jared nodded. "I love you too, Jensen. So much. If there was a legal way for you not to have to go through pregnancies and births, I'd make that happen. I've always wanted children. I love you and want _your_ children, as many as we could have. But if there was a choice I wouldn't put you through that when you hate it so much."  
  
A smile touched Jensen's features, and tears threatened for a moment, but they were gone in a blink and his expression was serious again. "Thank you. Thank you, Jared. This is why I love you, you're a really _good_ man."  
  
Jared grinned and ducked his head in that characteristic way that went straight to Jensen's heart--and his dick, surprising him. Well, they'd get to that, soon. Maybe, depending on how the rest of this talk went.  
  
"There's more, though, and you're not going to like it."  
  
Jared sat back and braced himself a little. "Hit me."  
  
"I'll give you the kids. I'll get through the pregnancies, I'll keep myself healthy, do all the right things, give you the best little piglets I can manage. And then they're yours to deal with. I want no part of their upkeep. I don't want to see them. I don't want to hear them, so if we share a bedroom, no baby monitor. And I don't want them close enough to smell. You hire nannies and wet-nurses, or prepare to bottle feed, because I'm not going to be part of that equation."  
  
As Jared shifted and started to protest, Jensen raised a hand. "I'm not required to. I don't want to be a parent. I'm doing this under protest, because otherwise I'd end up in a facility somewhere bred by force. Or dead."  
  
His eyes fastened on Jared again, and his voice sharpened to steel. "If it wasn't you, Jared, I'd be dead long ago, believe that. You're the only thing that's kept me here.  
  
"Legally, I'm required to give birth, but I'm not legally bound to parent the result. I don't want it, I don't want _them_. So you keep them away from me, and we can go on being together, and I can love you. If you hate me for this, I'm sorry. But you have three choices: you can terminate my contract and send me back to Repro, wash your hands of me and ask for another ceiver, one who'll bear your kids and wipe their butts and suckle them like good ceivers are supposed to do. Or you can find somebody to help you care for the sprog and spend whatever time with me you need to knock me up and we'll call it good."  
  
"What's my third choice?"  
  
"We go on as we have been—together, in love, screwing each other sideways and enjoying it. I get through the pregnancies, we keep Repro happy, but in the meantime I get at least some of my life back. I want the two bonus rooms. I'm already set up in there, but I want to do it right. I need sound equipment, better than I have now. I need a couple of good computers, and Internet—high-speed and reliable. I can work by phone and Skype and Internet. I won't be doing anything illegal as long as it's okay with you. I don't have to meet people in person, so no chaperone, and no coming and going at the house. You told me a long time ago that you were glad I was a _guy_ , not just a ceiver, not just a babymaker. So I get a job, something real that I'm good at, and some mental challenge and freedom. You get the kids."  
  
The sound of Jensen's gulp could be heard in the silence of the room. "So, what do you say? You need some time?"  
  
  


**TWENTY**

  
Jensen did a little dance step when he opened the envelope: his first royalty check! The song he had co-written and Jason had recorded had taken off like some sort of phenomenon, and he and Jason were already collecting royalties on the sales. It wasn't a large check, but it was enough to take Jared out to dinner, and celebrate.  
  
He made a note to find a frame and mat online so he could hang the check replica: the cash had already been deposited in Ross Jensen's account. Arthur Clark had been only too happy to help Jensen set up his business in a way that wouldn't attract Repro's attention, or if it did, wouldn't bring repercussions down on Jared. It was a good feeling to have a successful career again, doing something he loved. There were three original songs in various stages of completion right now, plus the seven or so he'd co-written with Steve, Jason, or both of them. So far he and Chris hadn't been able to agree long enough to collaborate, even by Skype or webcam, but he hadn't given up on that. He'd even done backup tracks on a few songs, and even if he could never acknowledge them, it felt good to work with the guys again. Hell, it felt good just to work again.  
  
He reached for the phone to call Leslie and make sure she was on nanny duty tonight, so he could lure Jared out for the evening. Once she was confirmed, he called Jared's office, and got his secretary to put him through.  
  
Jared sounded tired. "Hey, what's up?"  
  
"Hey yourself, good-lookin'. How's about you pick me up about seven o'clock? I want to take you out to dinner. You got a preference? Steak sound good? You want suits and nice wine? Or jeans and nice beer?"  
  
Jensen could just about hear the dimples in Jared's smile. "What's the occasion?"  
  
"Got my first royalty check, want to take my man to dinner."  
  
"Well, all right. How big's the check?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Can you afford nice wine, Jensen?"  
  
Jensen snickered. "Shit yeah, man. Nothing but the best for you."  
  
He was rewarded with a full-bellied laugh. The change in Jared's voice made him proud. He'd done that. "Well, if it's all the same to you, I think I'll shed this monkey suit and relax for the evening. All right?"  
  
"Done. Reservations at Murphy's. See you at seven."  
  
Jensen made the call to Murphy's, and then had a nice long think about Jared getting comfy. Maybe the two of them could get comfy together. He made a little face, resigned to the fact that Jared would be doing all the drinking tonight. But hey, if it loosened him up, then it would be easier for Jensen to take advantage of him.  
  
  
The steaks were excellent, and Jared appeared to enjoy the beers he had, but he cut himself off at three, making mournful eyes at Jensen. "You takin' advantage of me, man?"  
  
Jensen grinned till his face hurt. "Tryin'. I'm a bona fide pro songwriter now, deserve me some hot young thing ready to put out." He put a hand on Jared's thigh, leaned in and nosed under his jaw, behind his ear, breathing out slowly and deliberately against the heated skin. "You up for the job?"  
  
Jared's eyes were heavy with promise, and he shifted so Jensen could feel his interested cock. "Oh, I'm up for it."  
  
They couldn't pay and get out of the place fast enough. Jensen drove, not a hardship at all. He drove most of the time now whenever he and Jared went out together. It made Jared happy that driving made Jensen happy. Of course this evening they were both going to be even happier, just as soon as they got into the garage and up the stairs into Jensen's bedroom and he got to strip Jared. He was thinking it over on the way, mulling whether to take it slow and drive Jared crazy by removing his clothing piece...by...piece, having him beg before Jensen had him naked, or just ripping everything off him and ravishing him. Jensen cast a sidelong look, and Jared was grinning back at him. Okay! Ravishing it would be!  
  
When he was balls-deep, with Jared's legs hooked over his shoulders and his gorgeous cock in hand, pulling along with every stroke, he got to watch Jared come apart. He loved this. He loved being able to give this to the man he was so in love with he couldn't see straight some days. Jared, skin flushed, his hair sweat-damp, his eyes fallen shut and mouth open, gasping profanities every time Jensen stroked over his prostate, was a glory and a wonder, and Jensen couldn't believe he got to have this. "Come on, sweetheart, give it up. Come for me, man." And at the same moment Jared tightened down, squeezing Jensen's climax out of him, he spilled over Jensen's hand.  
  
Jensen brought a warm wet cloth to clean them both up, then spooned up behind Jared, pulling up the sheet to cover them both, too warm yet for blankets.  
  
"You going to tell me?" his lips brushed the nape of Jared's neck as he spoke, and Jared couldn't repress his shiver in reaction.  
  
"Tell you what?"  
  
"What's got you wound so tight? Working late so much lately. What's going on, Jared?"  
  
" 'S nothing. Just a client being a pain." He didn't want to bother Jensen with a problem he should have been able to resolve weeks ago. The design should have been simple, elegant, but the client was the problem. The infernal woman kept requesting changes on the building she'd commissioned as a gallery for the local arts college. First she wasn't happy with the "flow" of the first of Jared's designs, then she wanted different heights for different exhibits: up two steps, down three, up two, up another five, then down two. He tried to explain that a design like that didn't meet legal disability accommodation requirements, but she effectively shut him down. Then a few days later, after talking over her plans with her bridge group, one of her friends had told her the building codes wouldn't allow the multi-step design because of access problems. She shared this information while glaring at Jared as though he had tried to put one over on her.  
  
But the partners had palmed her off on Jared, and how he handled her had a huge impact on his being given larger accounts and more responsibility. So far he hadn't found an effective way of dealing with her irrational and swift-changing demands.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
"You don't need to know--"  
  
"Dude, I'm feeling really good right now. I'm loving you a lot. Don't make me beat you."  
  
Jared snorted, sleepily. The warmth and the comfort were lulling him towards sleep. "As if," he challenged.  
  
"Don' make me pull this bed over," Jensen threatened, voice going soft and slurred. "I want to know what's going on with you. 'M Serious, man. Spill."  
  
So he did. And by the time he was done, Jensen wasn't even asleep yet. He hugged Jared tight, and kissed him behind his ear. "Sucks, man. I think I know somebody. Lemme work on it." Jensen was snoring in the next breath.  
  
Jared smirked to himself. "You 'know somebody'? Gonna put a hit out on her on my behalf? That's really sweet, man." A gigantic yawn overtook him, and he reached down and snagged the blankets, pulling them up and snuggling back into Jensen's warmth.  
  


* * *

  
The weight gain and the swelling of his feet and ankles were the same as last time; his body growing clumsier and slower as the weeks wore on. He still felt like he was sharing his body with an invader, but the alien was important to Jared, so Jensen tried to work around the conditions he hated and resented. The nausea was much lighter after the first few weeks this time, and his appetite was better. His body was achier, though, like a tired rubber band, he thought. Still, he had his work, and things were good between him and Jared, and that was the important thing.  
  
Mark was pleased to see them back, and though Jensen was no more interested in the second pregnancy than he had been in the first one, he was far less tense about it. He still brought his iPod to exams, and Mark addressed his comments, advice, and information to Jared.  
  
  
On the weekends when Jared's family was in the house, the door at the end of the hall stayed locked. Few people wandered into the weight room, but a swimmer looking for a place to change would occasionally get sidetracked, or go exploring. The door that apparently led to a closet was also locked, and few people were even aware that the weight room had been shortened by four feet along one wall; they never knew the stairs were there. The door stayed locked anyway though, unless Jensen was sure he was alone in the house with the staff and Jared.  
  
Leslie was the weekday nanny. She lived in four days a week, on call 24 hours, and then off three. Jared hired a weekend nanny, too, Cecile, who was on call 24 hours the other three days. They time-shared one of the three bedrooms on the opposite end of the upstairs hall. Jensen had never met either of them, but he occasionally spoke with one or the other on the phone to coordinate an evening out with Jared, or some other event.  
  
Jared continued to hold family get-togethers about once a month; his family came, not all of them every time, but there were usually more than a dozen. Jensen's family started coming, too, and Jensen would get very absorbed in constructing a melody during the hour or two of the party when his parents might be just on the other side of that locked door. He wanted to see them, to hug them and feel their arms around him. But he couldn't bring himself to unlock that door.  
  
Jensen flatly refused to make appearances at the gatherings. He had allowed everyone the opportunity to track visual progress in the first pregnancy--it had seemed to be a requirement. But they now had the baby to appease them, and he'd proved his worth as a brood mare. He told Jared no, and after a couple of arguments, Jared backed down.  
  
The best times, the times Jensen looked forward to, that made him happiest, were in the evenings. After Jared got home from work, had his dinner, and spent some time with his son, there would come a tap at Jensen's door. At his "come in," the key would turn in the lock, and Jared was his alone for the time, whether it was a quiet conversation on the couch, or a game of COD, some kissing and cuddling, or the whole night together in Jensen's bed.  
  
  
At the end of Jared's day, after he'd played with the baby and talked to Leslie, or Cecile, about how his day had gone, after he'd had supper and, sometimes, showered and changed into sweats or lounge pants, or sometimes he just went with his tie loose and his collar button undone, and knocked on the door and waited for Jensen to welcome him in. Stepping into the sanctum, with its studio at one end and office-living room arrangement at the other, he immediately left his troubles and concerns at the door. Jensen's rooms were almost another world, and he sat and listened to the music Jensen was writing, or just sometimes old songs he played and sang. And then Jensen would lay the guitar aside, turn off the recorders and the computers and turn to Jared with that slow, sexy smile.  
  
"Can you stay?"  
  
And if the answer was "yes," then Jensen would kneel by the chair, or sit on his lap, or stand behind him and lean forward over his shoulder. He'd pull off the tie and unbutton the shirt, slip off the shoes and socks, flip open the belt, undo the button and slide the zipper down before helping Jared to stand and shed the clothes stained with the day's wear and tear, shedding the day's troubles along with them. Jared had to do nothing but let him. Sit, stand, sway in his direction, secure in the strength of Jensen's arms to right him if fatigue tipped him too far. Jensen might run them a bath, sitting behind Jared, cradling him skin to skin while he washed him with gentle swipes of the cloth, cupping warm water in his hand to stream down Jared's chest, or his shoulders, his back, or his belly. Or Jensen would lead him into the shower and wash him head to toe under the streaming water, rubbing him dry afterward with big soft towels. In Jensen's bed Jared would kiss and kiss those lips, those eyes, and Jensen would kiss right back: fingers, toes, ears, neck, navel, nipples, ass cheeks, thighs, the hidden places behind his knees, his belly, his groin, his balls, and finally, finally, take his hard and weeping cock into the warm wet cavern of his mouth and take his time to utterly destroy Jared.  
  


  
**TWENTY-ONE**   


  
The band asked Jensen to write liner notes for the CD cover, and copy for the press releases. He insisted he was a lyricist--it had been more than a year since he'd done any ad work, but Jason had a talk with him on IM one night, and convinced him to give it a try. The results were nothing special that he could see, but everybody else seemed enthusiastic, and the stuff Jensen had written became official band promo material.  
His dad had a couple of new campaigns he emailed Jensen about, and they got on webcam to talk about them. One of the companies had images they insisted on using, and Alan was hoping Jensen could come up with a signature melody, and lyrics too, that would fit the images. He sent them in email and told Jensen to take a look and see what he could do. The second account direly needed copy, and a slogan that would set it apart from the other companies in the field, and Jensen said he'd work on that one as well.  
  
Jensen and his dad seemed to recover their easy working relationship, almost as though they were in the same room. The give and take, the exchange of jokes and teasing went a long way to reestablishing "normal" for both of them. And when Jensen's projects turned out better than expected, Ackles Advertising started throwing accounts Ross Jensen's way, and the bank account just kept growing.  
  
Jared grinned ear to ear at the change in the man he loved. This was as close as he'd ever seen Jensen to the man he'd glimpsed in the photos Repro had sent before they had ever met, and he was happy and relieved Jensen's depression seemed to have lifted.  
  


  
* * *

  
  
Jared called it an early night, complaining of fatigue and achiness. The next evening, he'd developed a cough that didn't sound good. Jensen urged him to go to the doctor, but there was an important deadline looming, and he just didn't think he could spare the time right now. Soon, he promised Jensen.  
  
He got absorbed by the plans, forgot and worked through lunch. Chad and the guys tried to tempt him out for drinks after work, but Jared just wanted to go home. Marta had a nice supper for him, and he should have been hungry, but nothing tasted good. He peeked in on the baby, but he was already asleep, and Leslie said he'd been fine all day, so Jared decided not to go in and kiss him goodnight. If this cough was contagious, he sure didn't want his little one catching it.  
  
He felt like crap. He ought to avoid Jensen, too. And he would have just gone straight to bed, but he was just going to peek in and say goodnight. Jensen hugged him, sat him down on the couch and took his shoes off, put a pillow under his head and pulled the quilt off the back of the couch to cover him. "Just rest," Jensen told him, kissing his forehead before he went back to his guitar and the line he was trying to fit to the melody Jared had been hearing for about a week. Of course he dozed off, lulled by warmth and the sound of the music and Jensen's voice.  
  
He woke up choking. He sat up, as a series of wet, heavy coughs tore out of him, leaving him wheezing for breath before another bout of coughing left him dizzy and sick. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and he couldn't stop the coughing.  
  
A cool wet cloth swiped across his forehead, down one cheek and then the other, and around the back of his neck. It felt good, but he was still trying to choke back coughs.  
  
He heard phone noises. Jensen was beside him on the couch, an arm around his shoulders to brace him as he coughed.  
  
"Jeff? It's Jensen."  
  
Jared tried to speak, but the effort was lost in coughing. He reached for the phone, but Jensen moved it out of his reach.  
  
"Listen, Jared is really sick. Can I ask you to come take a look at him?"  
  
Jensen listened to Jeff for a moment before he spoke again. "Yeah, that may be the best thing. But if I do that, can you meet the ambulance, or at least go by the hospital? He shouldn't be alone." Another pause while Jeff spoke. Jared did his best to hold back, but the coughing shook him, and left him gasping. He couldn’t stop it. Jensen's expression was worried, and he kept a hand on Jared's back in an attempt to soothe and support. "Well, you know I would, in a heartbeat. But, see, I can ride in the ambulance with him, but once they take him back for treatment, I'm not allowed to be in a public place, you know, by myself. They won't. I mean--" Jensen's features twisted in frustration and worry, "Fuck, Jeff, it's all fucked up. He's really sick. I can't send him off by himself unless I know you're going to meet him there."  
  
The frustration was giving way to pissed off, now. "I hate to ask you to come out, but you're the only choice I have. And if you have to go out to get to the hospital, you might as well just come by here. There may be treatment we can manage at home--" Jared did his best to nod. He didn't want to go to the hospital; he wanted to stay here.  
  
Jeff apparently agreed. Relief swept over Jensen's features, and his hand tightened on the back of Jared's neck. "Thanks, man. I'll get Marta to let you in."  
  
  
"Bronchitis," Jeff diagnosed, phoning in prescriptions for delivery. "Keep him in bed tomorrow, and if he isn't noticeably better, the next day, too."  
  
Jared started to protest, but Jeff wouldn't let him. "Do what Jensen says, or your ass is going to wind up in a hospital bed. You want that?"  
  
Jared emphatically did not, so an hour and a half after Jensen's call, Jared let himself be tucked into Jensen's bed and dosed up with heavy-duty cough meds and antibiotics.  
  
"Lots of fluids, rest, stay on schedule with the meds. And if he's not better in two days, call me." He clapped Jensen on the shoulder as he turned to leave.  
  
Jensen looked at him so sternly that Jared apologized by reflex. "I'm sorry, Jensen."  
  
"Dude, you should be. I had _plans_ for us tonight!" He crawled up on the bed to sit propped against the headboard and pulled Jared into his arms, Jared's head on his shoulder.  
  
"Oh," Jared said carefully, attempting to avoid coughing. "Now I really am sorry."  
  
"Ass," Jensen kissed him on the forehead. "It'll keep. Go to sleep."  
  
"Work," Jared reminded him.  
  
"Already called. Left voicemail for your secretary."  
  
Jared heaved a sigh and settled in more comfortably. "'kay," he mumbled before he allowed himself to sleep.  
  


  
* * *

  
"Hey." It was a little unusual for Jared to call so late in the day.  
  
"Hey yourself. What's up?"  
  
"Matt asked me and Chad and a couple more of the guys over to his place tonight. Pizza and a few rounds of HALO, or something." Jared paused, but there was no reply from Jensen. "Jen, is that okay with you?"  
  
"Um. Sure, Jared. So, I'll see you tomorrow night, then?  
  
"What? No, wait."  
  
"Well, I'll probably be in bed before you get home, and you'll be gone in the morning when I get up, so I'll just plan on seeing you tomorrow evening, right?"  
  
Jared sighed. "Yeah, okay." Late pregnancy was taking a toll, and Jensen seemed to be sleeping whenever he could.  
  
Jared could hear the indulgent grin. "Have a good time. It's about time you had some fun with your boys. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
He sighed. "Okay, man. You feeling all right? Anything you need me to bring you? Rocky Road? That juice mix you like?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm good. And we've got Rocky Road in the freezer—Marta never lets me run out."  
  
"Okay," Jared still felt obscurely guilty for leaving Jensen alone all day and all evening too. But Jensen was insisting he go. "You call if you need anything, or just if you want me to come home," he instructed.  
  
"Jared, I'll be fine," Jensen insisted. "You go, have fun. There's a Bruce Willis marathon on—bet me how far in I fall asleep."  
  
  
Jensen recognized the signs of labor the second time. He anticipated how much it could hurt, and delayed calling Jared until the contractions were past uncomfortable and bordering on actually painful. He almost left it too late. Mark delivered Jared's daughter less than an hour after Jensen arrived at the hospital. "Next time," Mark admonished them both, "Get here sooner. Or he'll deliver in the parking lot."  
  
Something like despair crossed Jensen's features at the words, "Next time." He watched Jared with the baby, but refused to hold her, or even look closely at her. Jared arranged for a private room with no visitors for Jensen. The baby was cared for in the nursery, where the nurses doted on her and her grandparents made faces through the glass.  
  
They kept Jensen an extra day, and then let Jared take him home. He helped him up the stairs to his rooms, and got him settled in. Marta had put a handheld walkie-talkie on his bedside chest, which made him laugh. "You call me if you need some juice, or your pillow fluffed," she grinned at him, and left him to Jared.  
  
Jared stretched out beside Jensen, head on his shoulder, nose snuffling his neck. "Missed you," he said.  
  
"I can tell," Jensen grinned, leaning a little into Jared. "I missed you too." He dropped a kiss on Jared's hair, and shifted slightly in discomfort. Jared eased off the bed.  
  
"You should sleep," he told Jensen. "I'm gonna be right over here, watching this awesome movie."  
  
"Jared, you don't have to stay."  
  
"I want to."  
  
"You want to watch me sleep?"  
  
He nodded emphatically, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest while he grabbed the remote with his other hand. "Tell me if this is too loud."  
  
Ten minutes later, Jensen was snoring softly, and Jared lowered the volume nearly to mute, kissing Jensen on the top of his head before he slipped out to go check on the baby.  
  
  
Jared had brought her home the day before, where her brother and her extended family waited to welcome her. After a while, partied out, she settled quickly to sleep in the nursery, watched over by Leslie, while her brother basked in all the attention, now that the interloper was gone. Jared spent a lot of time reassuring his not-quite-two-year-old he was going to be the best brother ever, before he took him upstairs and tucked him into bed as well. He stood watching his children sleep, and his mom came up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist.  
  
"Wasn't so long ago you and Jeff were that small. Or you and your sister."  
  
He grinned down at her from his great height. "And look at me now."  
  
"Yes. Oaf." She reached up to pat his cheek. "Are you happy, honey?"  
  
His smile spilled over with joy and pride. "I never thought I'd have this. Sometimes I can't believe they're mine."  
  
She nodded agreement. Since Jared came out, she hadn't ever expected he would have children of his own, either.  
  
"I wish—" He didn't finish his thought, and she prompted him.  
  
"What, son? What do you wish?" Searching his expression, it wasn't hard for her to guess. "Is it Jensen?"  
  
Jared nodded, tears sparkling a little at the one flaw in his happiness. "Yeah." He tipped his head down to rest against hers. "I love him, Mama. I love him so much, and I know he loves me. I just wish we could be a real family, all of us."  
  
"He'll come around, eventually," she patted his arm in reassurance.  
  
"No," Jared knew better. "He won't."  
  
  


 


	7. More Than Words

** **

  
**TWENTY-TWO**   


  
"Chris, damn it, the harmony line is _supposed_ to come in on the downbeat. That it's off-beat is the point, you need to _listen_ \--"  
  
"I've listened to it, man, and it's crap. It sounds like somebody's not paying attention. And what's this minor key shit? It sounds like they're playing the wrong song--"  
  
This was always the way collaboration went with Chris, Jensen knew that. And it was so tempting to start throwing things at the monitor where the webcam feed displayed. But common sense prevailed, and Jensen tried again to reason with his partner in crime. "Chris, the off-beat start and the minor key are supposed to make the listener feel like something's wrong, something's off. It's part of the atmosphere of the song. It cues the hair standing up on the back of your neck, and you listen closer to the lyrics, to find out what's going on, what's wrong."  
  
"Well, it just makes me want to turn the damn thing off," Chris shot back. "Makes my teeth itch."  
  
"Yeah, I know, you dumb Okie. Gets your attention, right? That's what it's for. Did you let Steve hear it? What did he say?" Jensen watched as Chris ducked a little to hide his expression behind the fall of his collar-length hair, and squirmed in front of the camera. He mumbled something unintelligible.  
  
"What was that?" Jensen pushed, a grin breaking through at his writing partner's reluctant admission.  
  
"I said he liked it with the changes," he barked at Jensen, scowling furiously.  
  
"Well, there you go."  
  
He didn't want to push too hard, so he just suggested, "Let Jason hear it, a few other people. Listen to it yourself a few times. Once you get past how wrong it feels to you, you'll start to hear how it makes a difference."  
  
His private line rang--only four people had the number. "Hey man, I gotta take this," he told Chris. "Call me tomorrow, and we'll get the third verse down, okay?" Chris mumbled assent, and Jensen cut the feed. Before he could get to the phone, it went to voice.  
  
"Jensen?" Jared. He sounded--was he drunk? "Jensen, he's dead. Chad's dead."  
  
Jensen was across the room in seconds, the phone in his hand. "Jared, I'm here."  
  
"Jensen. Jensen it was. It was an accident. In his car. His stupid--" the voice broke again, shattered by tears. "stupid Maseratti. Stupid car. Stupid Chad." Jensen could hardly understand him through the sobs.  
  
"Jared, where are you?"  
  
"--my office."  
  
"Is anybody else there? With you right now?"  
  
"'s Jill. She brought me tea. Jensen--"  
  
"Jared, let me speak to Jill. Okay? Hand the phone to Jill."  
  
There was a clatter, and Jared's voice muttering, and then Jill came on the line. "Jensen?"  
  
"He's pretty bad, huh?"  
  
"Yes sir. He's very upset. I think he should go home."  
  
"I agree with you. Listen, will you put him in a cab and send him home? Can you do that for me? Don't let him drive."  
  
"I can call a company car, sir."  
  
"That's even better, thank you, Jill. Why don't you do that now, and I'll talk to him till you get back. I'd like to ask you to stay with him until you get him into the car. Tell the driver to bring him home, and if Jared asks to go somewhere else the driver is to ignore him and just bring him home. Can you do that?''  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
"Thanks, Jill. Let me talk to Jared while you get the car."  
  
  
When Jared was safely in the company car and he had thanked Jill, Jensen dialed another number.  
  
"Leslie? This is Jensen."  
  
If the nanny was surprised to hear from him she hid it very well.  
  
"There's been an accident, and one of Jared's friends was killed. He's coming home shortly. I just wanted to ask you to keep his kids in their rooms tonight. I'm going to ask Marta if she can stay, and if they need anything, you can call her and ask her to bring it up. Is that all right with you?"  
  
"Yes sir, of course. Will Jared be coming in to say goodnight to the children?"  
  
"Right now I don't know. But I need to make sure he gets something to eat, and has a chance to...relax a little, talk if he needs to. I'm sure if he wants to see the kids he'll be careful to not wake them, if they're already sleeping."  
  
"Of course, Jensen. Thanks for letting me know. I hope Jared's okay."  
  
"I do, too."  
  
Once the kids and the nanny were squared away, Jensen dialed Marta's cell phone. "Hey, good lookin', are you still here?"  
  
"I was just getting supper ready for Jared, handsome. What's up?"  
  
"Jared's had some bad news, Marta, and he's taking it pretty hard. You remember his friend Chad?"  
  
"Oh yes, that Murray boy. Don't tell me something happened to him?"  
  
"Car accident. He didn't make it. I don't have any more details than that."  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry. He and Jared were close."  
  
"Yeah, they were. Anyway, Jared's on his way home, and I've squared away Leslie and the kids for the night, but in case they need something, or Jared does, can you stay over tonight?"  
  
There was a guest room and bath off the living room, originally intended as quarters for a live-in maid. Marta stayed there occasionally to be on hand when there was prep going on for a party or event. "Sure, Jensen. I'll be glad to. Are you guys going to eat dinner down here?"  
  
"I'm going to try and get him to eat something. I'll just have to play it by ear. But honestly, I appreciate the backup. You so need a raise."  
  
"Now you're talking, handsome. Dinner's timed to be ready in thirty, but I can keep it hot. You let me know."  
  
"Will do, doll. And thanks again."  
  
  
Jensen went downstairs to thank Marta in person. He made one more call before he heard the car drive up, and had the front door open. The driver walked Jared to the door and handed him off to Jensen. Jensen thanked him, and Jared did too. Once behind the closed door, Jensen got a good look at him. Face swollen and red and puffy, Jared swayed like someone drunk. Jensen gathered him in with both arms and held him tight. "I'm so sorry, man."  
  
"He was a good friend."  
  
"I know, Jared. Come on, let's get you inside. Get rid of that jacket and lose the tie," Jensen suited action to words, and led Jared toward the kitchen. "Marta's got dinner ready."  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
"I know you're not," Jensen nodded. "But you have to eat something, and she went to all the trouble to fix it. I could eat a little something myself."  
  
Marta was setting plates out on the breakfast bar, and as the men settled on stools, she filled their plates. The food smelled wonderful, and Jensen picked up his fork, looking hard at Jared until he did the same. They managed to get about half the meal eaten before Jared laid down his fork and sobbed once.  
  
"Come on, Sasquatch," Jensen wrapped an arm around Jared's waist and steered him toward the stairs. "Marta's going to get the lights and the alarm and do the door check tonight," he told him, throwing a glance at the housekeeper for confirmation and smiling his gratitude when she agreed. "So you don't even have to worry about anything, okay? Just you and me, man. Time to get you showered and put you to bed."  
  
Jared was pliant and easily led, up the stairs, down the hall to the bedroom he and Jensen used to share, where he slept alone now. Jensen helped him undress and pushed him toward the shower. "Clean up. I'll lay out some pjs for you."  
  
Jared's forehead lowered to bump gently against Jensen's. "You gonna be here when I get out?"  
  
"Wouldn't be anywhere else, Jay."  
  
"I can't believe he's gone, you know?"  
  
"Yeah." Jensen gripped his shoulder for a minute, shaking him gently. "We'll talk about it when you get out."  
  
  
While Jared was in the shower, Jensen retrieved his jacket and tie and hung them and the suit pants in the closet. He pulled a soft t-shirt and sleep pants from the drawer, went to check on Jared and left the clothes on the sink counter. The shower shut off, and Jensen, back in the bedroom, heard as Jared toweled his hair, brushed his teeth, gargled and spit. He looked better, though still tired, when he emerged from the bathroom.  
  
"You want to sleep here, Jared? I'll stay if you want me. Or come down to my room for the night?"  
  
It was an invitation offered seldom enough to be prized, and Jared nodded. "With you."  
  
  
The two rooms over the garage and weight room had become Jensen's domain. He and Jared had the only keys, both to the door at the end of the hall, and to the stairs up from the weight room. Jared's keys usually hung in the kitchen where Marta could get them if there was an emergency. But she and Jared were the only ones besides Jensen with access, and neither of them entered without permission. The first room held Jensen's little studio, with his guitars, and recording, editing, and mixing equipment. There was a big couch along the wall, with a flat screen TV, DVR, and game consoles. There was a small kitchenette, with an undercounter fridge and a microwave. And then Jensen's office, with a big desk, low file cabinets, the room's end wall lined with bookshelves and cabinets. The carpeted floor, carefully planned lighting, and walls painted a neutral blue-grey made the space pleasant. Past the office were the stairs, Jensen's bedroom, bath, and a small sitting area.  
  
The rooms were tasteful, masculine. Jensen had designed them and had chosen the furniture and finishes himself. It had been expensive, and he used his own money. It was worth the expense, as he spent most of his life here. The locked door meant Jared could enjoy the rest of his house with his children, with his family, and Jensen's, when they came to visit, and with his friends. Jensen was safe behind his door, comfortable, with everything he needed that he was allowed to have, right in these two rooms.  
  
He did come downstairs often for a late dinner with Jared, after the kids were in bed. He'd arranged with Leslie to swim in the early mornings before the kids were up and about, and he frequently had time for breakfast in the kitchen while talking with Marta. The sound of running feet and high voices, though, would have him slipping out the sliding door to the patio, across to the weight room door and up the stairs to his domain.  
  
This was the way they had lived since the last days of his first pregnancy, through the second pregnancy and now four months into the third. Jared wasn't as happy as he would have been had Jensen been in the bed they'd once shared every night. He wanted Jensen involved in their children's lives--it saddened him terribly that they had never even met their other parent, and it made him even sadder that Jensen continued to reject them, and to prevent them from all being a real family. But he loved Jensen, and if this arrangement made their life together one that Jensen could live, that kept him occupied and sane, then Jared would agree to it.  
  
Jared sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled Jensen in between his knees, winding his arms around Jensen's waist, his face against Jensen's chest. Jensen wrapped both arms around him, stroking the chestnut hair he still wore long even after all these years. Jared sighed deeply, almost a sob. "Come on, baby," Jensen moved out of his arms and pushed him back on the bed, raising the covers so Jared could slide beneath. "Just gonna brush my teeth," Jensen told him. "Be right back."  
  
Jared's eyes were still open when Jensen came to bed. Jensen pulled him in against him, and felt the wet trickle of tears on his skin. Jared held tight to Jensen as sobs shook him. "He was a good friend. I'm so mad at him--that was a stupid way to go. I'm going to miss him so much!"  
  
"I know, baby," Jensen rocked him and let him cry it out. "Let it go. I'm here."  
  


  
* * *

  
Jared woke slowly, body aching and with a headache, kickback from all the crying. He was cocooned against a warm body, wrapped up in arms he was grateful for. He dropped a kiss on a wrist and turned to look at Jensen, awake and looking back at him.  
  
"Oh good," Jensen grinned. "You're awake. I gotta pee." He turned Jared loose and slid out of bed, padding into the bathroom.  
  
Jared snickered, and then the reality hit him as he lay alone in Jensen's bed. He hadn't thought there were any more tears in him.  
  
"Hey," Jensen had an arm, both arms around him, pulled him to sitting. "Hey, you need to get up. Marta's got breakfast for us, and then we've got some things to do." He thumbed the tears from beneath Jared's eyes and got him on his feet. They were halfway along the upstairs hall when a burst of laughter and the sound of running feet heralded the appearance of Leslie and the children. Jared took a few steps toward them and sank to one knee, both arms wide for the kids to swarm into them, giggling and hugging and kissing, little hands patting his back, his face. "Papa! Papa!" Jared made piggy noises while he poked them with his nose and kissed and kissed them, keeping them giggling. The doorbell rang, but no one paid attention. The little girl threw her head back and laughed and laughed. The boy clung to Jared's shoulder, and looked behind his papa at the stranger standing there.  
  
He held Jensen's eyes for a long minute, and then Jared's fingers tickled his ribs and his eyes squinched shut in glee as he shrieked and wriggled, evading the tickling fingers.  
  
"Jensen?" Marta called up the stairs. "You have a visitor." Jensen grinned at her equanimity, disguising any surprise at this out of character event. He edged past Jared and the kids, and nodded to the nanny as he went down the stairs. He met his visitor, and escorted him through the house, through the glass doors out onto the patio. Jensen led him in through the cabana entrance, up the stairs, and into his rooms.  
  
"Thank you for coming," he said, opening the closet door so the man could hang the garment bag he carried.  
  
Mr. Windom smiled in response. "Jensen, your father and brother are old and familiar customers. I'm very glad to help." He unzipped the bag and removed it, revealing three suits: one in navy blue, one in charcoal, and one a dark chocolate. "Why don't you slip into these, and we'll see about the fit?"  
  
A half-hour later, the charcoal and the navy suits were hanging in Jensen's closet. Mr. Windom had pulled a compact but sufficiently stocked sewing kit from his pocket and swiftly made an alteration or two, and now each of them fit Jensen respectably. The chocolate-colored suit was zipped back into the bag to return to Windom's shop. Jensen's closet had yielded three full-cut dress shirts to wear with the new suits, and ties. He'd retrieved his dress shoes and his polish kit was sitting ready by the shoes. "I can't thank you enough for coming through like this. I know it was short notice, but you've been awesome."  
  
Windom smiled and made a self-deprecating little bow. "All part of the service. My respects to your dad, when you see him."  
  
"Of course," Jensen smiled. A quick glance from the window showed Leslie and the kids were in the pool. So, the shirt hangers hooked over his fingers, he showed Mr. Windom along the upstairs hall and down the stairs to the door. Jared was at the island, a bowl of cereal in front of him. Jensen handed off the shirts to Marta with a quick kiss to the cheek and a plea, "Press these for me, please?" She just nodded, smiled, and disappeared with the shirts. Jensen sat down by Jared, bumping shoulders. "How you doin', man?"  
  
Jared shrugged and met Jensen's eyes. Unshed tears threatened, and he took a shuddery deep breath and leaned, a little, against Jensen. Jensen's hand cupped the nape of Jared's neck, and he pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Listen, handsome. You finish up here and go have a shower, okay? I've got some calls to make, and I'll be in after your shower."  
  
"I should go. Over to Chad's--" He gasped a shallow breath. "Or his parents'. I don't know."  
  
"Don't worry about it," Jensen pressed his face to Jared's. "Just finish your breakfast and take your shower. We'll go from there."  
  
Jared sighed, and nodded.  
  
  
Jensen's hands moved between the polish tin and the shoe, handling the cloth and the brush from long familiarity while he made a short series of calls. When he was done, he had Jared's itinerary for the day. Chad's parents had asked him to be pallbearer day after tomorrow, and Jensen accepted for him. There was a gathering of friends at Chad's place tonight, hosted by Matt and his wife. But before then, this afternoon, they needed to go by the Murrays', to give Jared a chance to make suggestions for the service, and to pay his respects.  
  
There would be visiting hours at the funeral home tomorrow, and at the Murrays'. The funeral would be the day after. Jensen wrote his list, packed up his shoe kit, and jumped in the shower. While he was toweling off, a soft knock on the open hall door announced Marta, with his freshly pressed shirts. He thanked her profusely and gave her another kiss on the cheek. He dressed quickly, carrying his jacket, the tie loose around his neck, and went along to Jared's room, closing the hall door behind him.  
  
Jared was standing in the middle of the room in his boxer briefs, hair still damp and a towel in his hands. He looked lost.  
  
"Hey, big guy. We're going to head over to Chad's parents' house first, okay? So you need to get dressed." He pulled a dark suit and a pale blue shirt from the closet and laid them out for Jared, fetching socks from a drawer and polished shoes from the rack. Jared watched him, but didn't respond. "Jared?"  
  
A hand went out to touch his face, fell to his shirt collar, fingered the loose end of the untied tie. "What are you wearing, Jen?"  
  
"I'm wearing clothes, Jared. And so should you be, if we're getting out of the house today. Come on, man. People are waiting for you."  
  
He bullied Jared into his clothes, sent him into the bathroom to comb his hair, and while he was gone, Jensen caught sight of his own reflection in the closet mirror. It took him by surprise, and he took a longer, more appraising look. Not bad, he decided. The suit fit well, showing off broad shoulders. If they didn't taper to as narrow a waist as he was used to, he was still quite presentable. He shrugged, looped the tie into its knot and scooped Jared's car keys out of the dresser tray. "Ready to go, big guy?"  
  
The next few days would be mostly a blur in Jared's memory, with a few sharp images that stood out. He was aware of Jensen always at his shoulder, guiding him when his eyes flooded with tears, or when he forgot where he was supposed to be going, what he was doing. Jensen drove him where he was supposed to go; his voice tethered Jared when he got lost in his thoughts and memories. A warm hand on his back or his shoulder urging him in the right direction, or anchoring him in place would be the thing he remembered most.  
  
He hugged Chad's parents and exchanged words of comfort. He sat with their friends in Chad's living room and remembered him, telling lies and embellishing stories until well after midnight, and Jensen took him home and put him to bed. Jensen was there when he woke with a nightmare, and soothed him back to sleep. He was there in the morning to make him eat and dress and go out to the office for a quiet memorial reception, and then to the funeral home to speak to extended family and a wider circle of friends. He ate and slept and woke and dressed, and carried Chad's coffin to his grave, and Jensen was at his shoulder, a warm and breathing presence while he sobbed as his friend was lowered into the ground.  
  
When the family had been comforted yet again, and his and Chad's circle of friends had hugged and separated with promises to see each other soon, to stay in touch, to plan something in remembrance, Jared was hollowed out, numb, and cold. Jensen took him home, undressed him, laid him down in the big white bed and stroked, licked, sucked, and fucked him into blessed, sweet unconsciousness.  
  


* * *

  
Jared's daughter was not pleased to surrender her crown as the youngest. She wanted nothing to do with her new baby brother, and snubbed him quite firmly. She demanded the attention of anyone who held him or looked into his face and cooed at him. Just generally, she was a very unhappy little girl with these new circumstances. Her older brother hadn't gone through quite as difficult an adjustment period when he'd been presented with her, and he seemed undecided now which sibling he should champion. On the one hand, he and his sister had been together quite a while, and the new kid was an interloper. On the other hand, their sister could be bossy and demanding, and a brother might be more of an ally. This situation demanded more empirical evidence.  
  


  
**TWENTY-THREE**   


  
Mark was pleased with how everything was going at seven months plus. When Jared complained that Jensen seemed to be suffering more daily aches and pains, the doctor assured them that with Jensen's fourth, these were factors of multiple pregnancies, and also of Jensen's aging body. Jensen overheard, pretending to listen to his iPod, and it was all he could do to keep from snorting. The doctor's blithe assurances were all very well, when it wasn't his body that was creaking and aching. But the baby was apparently healthy, another boy, and everything was on target. Jensen would be immensely relieved to have this pregnancy over with; but his relief was dampened by knowing it would start all over again, soon after this delivery. Still, Jared was happy, and Jensen didn't want to ruin that right now by grumbling.  
  
He pitched drive-through on the way home. "Come on, Jared. A hamburger isn't going to kill me. I'll get a salad, too." He saw Jared weakening, and quickly added, "and one of those little sundaes--" But a screech of tires and a heavy impact prevented him from finishing his argument.  
  
  
Jared heard a distant voice calling his name. "...ared? Jared!" Ow. His head hurt. The voice was sounding closer and more frantic. "Jared? Jared! Open your eyes!" Didn't want to. It was too bright and strange. A hand touched his arm, and the voice pleaded, "Jared. Jared, please man, open your eyes for me. Come on--" Jensen's voice.  
  
"Jensen?" His throat was a little rusty, his voice came out ragged.  
  
"Yeah." There was a little sigh of relief. "Come on, man, let me see those gorgeous hazel eyes. Look at me." So he did.  
  
Oh fuck. The car. They were in the car, and they'd been hit. He was sitting at an odd angle, the seat belt cutting into him. The airbags had deployed and deflated. Ow. His hand came up to rub his forehead where it hurt, and came away blood-streaked.  
  
"Yeah, man, it looks like you hit your head," Jensen said from the seat beside him. "How's your vision?" Jared blinked, and the fuzziness resolved, he grew used to the brightness.  
  
"'S fine." He blinked again. Jensen. His attention arrowed down to the man next to him. "How are you? You okay?" Focusing finally on Jensen's face, he saw the relief and the fondness that Jensen's smile held for him. He was completely calm, and seemed to be fine, except the other car had hit them in Jensen's door, which had crumpled into the cabin and it looked like he might be pinned.  
  
"Jensen, can you move?"  
  
"Not--not much. I hear sirens, though; the rescue trucks should be here soon. I think I'll wait on them."  
  
"Do you hurt anywhere?"  
  
"No, but you're bleeding." Jensen's hand rose to touch Jared's forehead, but he didn't complete the movement. "You sure your vision's okay? Dizziness? Nausea?"  
  
"I think I'm fine." He pushed at his door, and it popped open. He put a foot on the ground, and unfolded slowly from behind the wheel and stood up. Oh, he was going to be sore tomorrow, he could feel it. But right now everything seemed to be working. He peered back into the car. "Yeah, I'm good. You want to try and get out on this side?"  
  
Jensen shook his head a little. "'M gonna wait. How's the other driver? Anybody hurt?"  
  
The other driver. The one who had run the light and _hit them_. Jared suddenly felt the need to pound somebody and turned to leave. Jensen's voice called him back. "Hey. Just look, okay? I...kinda don't want you out of my sight right now."  
  
Jared ducked to look in at Jensen, and quickly decided he didn't have anyplace else he needed to be. Jensen was white, every freckle apparent against his pallor. His face was beaded with sweat, his hair damp with it. He hadn't moved, but he seemed to have shrunk into his seat. Jared reached in and grabbed Jensen gently by the forearm. "Hey, hey, hey," he said, purposely keeping his voice low and trying to keep the panic out of it. "I'm right here. Not going anywhere." He was rewarded with a smile. A little one, but a smile.  
  
Approaching sirens crescendoed and growled to silence as a rescue unit and a fire truck pulled off on the shoulder behind them, followed by a police car from the opposite direction. Jared stood and waved, "He's pinned in here. And I think he's going into shock!"  
  
One of the paramedics backed Jared away to sit in the open back of the ambulance, asking questions while he tended to the cut and bump on his forehead. Another rescue unit and two police cars rolled up. Uniforms were directing traffic and taking measurements and talking to a few bystanders. One came over to talk to Jared while the medic bandaged his cut. Jared tried to watch what other paramedics and a couple of firefighters were doing. Jensen was still in the car...  
  
"That's all I know," he told the cop as the medic packed away his supplies, Jared started toward the car. The cop caught him by the shoulder. "I think you ought to wait here and let them work, son. They know what they're--"  
  
A shriek like nothing Jared had ever heard had every head turning toward the wrecked cars, and Jared stood frozen for the longest seconds of his life before bolting for the car. It took the medic and two cops to hold him back as more firemen swarmed over the wreck. "Jensen! Let me go!" his struggles were no match for three of them. Not another sound came from the wreck except for the grunts of effort and urgent, bitten-off instructions as the firefighters worked to free Jensen. The medic holding Jared looked to the uniforms, "You got him?" When they nodded he grabbed his medical case and sprinted toward the wreck.

* * *

  
There was a touch on his shoulder, and Jared looked up into the eyes of his brother. "Hey."  
  
"Hey yourself. How you doin', shorty?" Jeff bent at the knees to squat beside Jared's chair in the hall outside Emergency.  
  
"They called you, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, someone caught the name and let me know." Jeff put the paper cup of coffee in Jared's hand, waiting until he was sure Jared's fingers had grasped it before he let go. "How is he?"  
  
Jared shook his head. "I don't know. They haven't told me anything." He blinked, unable to get his last sight of Jensen out of his mind, white and limp and unresponsive on the stretcher, his legs soaked crimson. The last time he'd heard Jensen's voice had been screaming. God. "I don't know."  
  
Jeff's hand came down hard on his shoulder as he levered up to his feet. "Wait here, bud. Be right back." White coat flapping, stethoscope draped around his neck, Dr. Padalecki strode back behind the curtains to find out something definite.  
  


  
* * *

  
The eyelids parted to reveal a sliver of green. "Hey," Jared smiled. Jensen's fingers tightened where their hands were clasped, weakly, but noticeably. "You're gonna be fine, Jen. Promise."  
  
"...baby?"  
  
This was the hard one. Jared had hoped for a delay until Jensen was stronger, but the grip tightened, and Jensen was staring, demanding an answer. He took Jensen's hand in both of his. "No," Jared told him. "He didn't make it."  
  
Jensen's face crumpled. "...sorry," he breathed, before his eyes closed again.  
  


* * *

  
Jensen was in surgery for more than six hours. Their fourth child though, their third son, was dead before he took his first breath, ripped away from his lifelines, his safe confines breached by the impact. Jensen suffered serious internal damage; it was miraculous the EMTs had kept him alive, staunched the blood loss long enough to reach the hospital. He had flatlined in ER and again in surgery. Somehow, for some reason Jared didn't understand but accepted as the gift it was, Jensen had managed to hang on, to breathe again, his heart unwilling to give up and stop for good.  
  
Nearly seven hours of painstaking matching of torn and broken bits, stitching things never meant to be parted back together again. Nearly seven hours of hope and despair and heroism and refusal to give up. Jared had Jensen back, thank god. He'd live, and he'd recover. He'd walk and laugh and eventually do just about anything he wanted to do, once he'd completely recovered, and Jared was utterly, deeply grateful.  
  
But there would be no more babies.  
  


  
* * *

  
There was really no one to blame, after all. An apparently healthy forty-seven year old man had suffered a heart attack at the wheel, his foot hard on the accelerator. His car had shot across the intersection at the red light and plowed into Jared's SUV. The driver was probably dead before the impact, the ME said. Jared wanted to hate him, but it seemed futile. The driver was married, with two kids, and his family was devastated at their loss; Jared didn't feel capable of adding to their pain. But circumstances left him with no outlet for his sorrow, nowhere to exhaust his rage at fate. He tried to turn it to something useful.  
  
  
Jared listened to the hold music, fingers tight on the phone till he forced himself to relax them. He was tempted to hang up. He had no idea if the man would even talk to him, but he hoped, he hoped.  
  
"Mr. Padalecki?" the tone was not quite clipped, but not quite welcoming, either. It was the note of curiosity he allowed to show that had prompted him to accept the call.  
  
"Mr. Clark," Jared addressed the Ackles' family lawyer, Jensen's attorney. "I spoke to Alan Ackles, and he gave me your number."  
  
"Yes," Clark's tone was noncommittal. "Alan told me you'd be calling, and asked if I would hear you out."  
  
"That was good of him," Jared smiled. "I appreciate that. I'm calling because I have a project in mind, and I need your help."  
  
He outlined what he hoped to accomplish, and Clark was almost immediately on board. He promised to clear his schedule for the next afternoon if Jared wanted to drop by the office, so they could get to work on this. Jared wanted.

* * *

  
Jared recognized the figure walking away down the corridor with slow, determined steps, his hand clutched tightly on the rolling IV stand he used as support.  
  
He caught up quickly and put a supporting arm around him. "Jensen! Should you be out of bed?"  
  
The grin that slanted up at him was infectious, if a little crooked. "Doc's orders. I'm doin' laps."  
  
There was a whisper of fabric behind them and Sally, Jensen's day nurse, passed them, commenting, "That's enough laps for now. Take a break."  
  
Jensen didn't argue. He leaned a little on Jared as they headed for his room. Once there, he took his time sitting on the edge of the bed and easing back into it. The head of it was raised so he could sit, but maneuvering was obviously painful. Jared was quick to take Jensen's feet and gently lift his legs onto the bed, so the newly-repaired and healing stomach muscles didn't have to lift their weight. Despite the evidence of fatigue, Jensen's color was better, and he was moving much easier. Jared couldn't help leaning over him and planting a kiss on his lips. From Jensen's grin, he seemed not to mind at all.  
  
They talked for a while, until tired from his exercise, Jensen nodded off. Sally lowered the head of the bed a little, not enough for the angle to pull on Jensen's stitches. Jared sat for a few more minutes, watching Jensen sleep, happy and grateful he was here to be watched. At last he dropped a soft kiss on Jensen's forehead, switched off the overhead light, leaving just the bedside lamp, and left to find Sally and get the day's update.  
  
"The end of the week?" Jared wanted to be elated, but what he was, was scared. Jensen seemed so fragile--how were they going to care for him at home? Shouldn't he be here, in the hospital where he was safe? With the doctor and nurses close by, just in case?  
  
"In case of what, Jared?" Sally wanted to know. "He's mending. You see how fast he's recovering. He'll improve even faster at home in his own bed, in familiar surroundings. Now that he's up and walking, you'll be amazed at the improvement by the weekend." She patted his arm reassuringly, and he calmed a little. He was prone to panic, now, about Jensen. He'd earned it, he knew. But he also knew he would have to let go of it. For one thing Jensen would have his head if Jared tried to hold him back from doing as much as he could do. And for another, that panic response wasn't good for either of them. He thanked Sally, and made plans to be present for doctors' rounds in the morning, so he could talk to Mark, as well.  
  
"I have an appointment I have to keep right now," he told the nurses at the station. "But I'll be back in about an hour and a half. Can I bring you ladies anything? Coffee? Donuts? Smoothies from the fruit bar on Clayton?" There was a flutter of assent, and he got flavor preferences before he turned to go. "If he wakes up, tell Jensen I'm coming back."  
  
  
Clark welcomed Jared into the office, waved him toward a chair as he sat behind his desk. "I started some preliminary investigation into the matter you mentioned. I'm curious. Why come to me? Your family attorneys are capable."  
  
"Mr. Clark, Jensen's told me how thorough you were in trying to find a way to reverse Repro's claim. Alan has spoken to me of your devotion and tirelessness on behalf of the Ackles family. You have the advantage over my family lawyers in that you've already done a lot of research, and you've dealt with Repro. They'd be starting from ground zero."  
  
Arthur nodded, and after a moment, Jared went on. "And I thought you might have a professional stake in the outcome."  
  
There was a long, silent moment, and then the corners of Clark's mouth turned up in a wicked little smile. He slanted a glance at Jared; between the icy grin and the sideways look, the proper Mr. Clark suddenly looked almost piratical. "Mr. Padalecki, it's going to be a pleasure working with you."  
  


  
**TWENTY-FOUR**   


  
Jared was afraid to touch him. Well, in the weeks Jensen had been home, Jared seemed to need to have his hands all over him, but he wouldn't touch him the way Jensen wanted to be touched. He was feeling victorious right now though. Pleading a need for a nap and company this afternoon, he'd managed to get Jared naked and in his bed. Jensen had stripped down to a t-shirt, but had left that on. He'd seen the horror in Jared's eyes at the scar across Jensen's abdomen, and Jensen absolutely didn't want that reaction right now.  
  
He pulled Jared against him, skin on skin, the way he'd craved for the last weeks but had been too weak and sore to ask for. His hand coasted down Jared's flank, the skin pebbling with goose bumps in its wake, and Jared shifted against him. "Jen--"  
  
"Shh. I got this," Jensen murmured. "Jared, Jared. Let me."  
  
Jared sighed, his face tucked into Jensen's neck, breath tickling the fine hairs there. He shifted a little, to make it an easier reach for Jensen's hand to fold around his cock. He wasn't hard, and as Jensen stroked, encouragingly, he filled a little, but slowly.  
  
"Jared, it's okay. It's been awhile, but it's okay now. Come on, come on." Jensen ducked until he got his lips next to Jared's ear and purred a stream of nonsense, breath hot and humid against Jared's skin, and Jared's breath hitched as he thrust into Jensen's hand. "That's the way, man. I've got you. Jared, Jared, Jared," Jensen chanted his name as he stroked, chanted it like a love spell, like a paean, swimming in the sound of it as he was surrounded with the feel of Jared's bone and muscle and skin, the beat of his blood, the gasp of his breath. Jared filled and hardened, rutting against him until he stilled, tense as a bowstring, then spilled into Jensen's hand.  
  
"Jensen."  
  
Jensen claimed his mouth, devouring him in a way Jared had evaded till now, believing Jensen still too fragile for physical exertion. "Missed you," Jensen told him, looking him straight in the eyes with love and heat and understanding.  
  
"Missed you too," Jared sucked at his earlobe, and his neck, rucking the neck of the t-shirt aside to bite at Jensen's collarbone, making him groan. He slid down the bed and settled between Jensen's legs, and Jensen widened them to make room. Jared's hand wrapped his length, and he licked and sucked at Jensen's cock, just the head, pulling off to blow across the wet surface. Jensen squirmed. "Jared, you fucker. Don't tease," he whined.  
  
Grinning, Jared bent to his task, licking and stroking until, in one movement, he swallowed Jensen to the base. Jensen nearly arched off the bed, but Jared's forearm across his hips kept him in place while he backed off to lick a wide, flat stripe up the underside, and suckle the head, tonguing the slit.  
  
Jensen's fists twisted in the bedsheets and he did his best to hold still, to feel every bit of this. But it had been weeks since he came. Granted, he was ill and sore much of that time, and sex had been the last thing on his mind. But it had still been far too long.  
  
Jared licked down his shaft and sucked in one of Jensen's balls, humming as he sucked it gently and let it slide out so he could give the second one the same treatment. Jensen cried out and bucked, and Jared eased off. When Jensen looked down at him along his body, Jared's expression was one of hesitation and fear. "Jensen? Is it all right? Should I stop?"  
  
"You stop and I'll gut you," Jensen growled. "Come on, Jared. I won't break."  
  
Jared grinned and fell back to work. And Jensen had no trouble at all admitting Jared was _good_ at his job. He bucked and tensed as he released, and then sagged boneless onto the mattress.  
  
Jared lay as he was, head pillowed on Jensen's thigh, one hand up underneath the hem of the t-shirt. Jensen couldn't feel Jared's fingers, the scar was mostly numb while the severed nerves knit themselves back together. But he could feel pressure, and sensation on either side of the scar where Jared's fingertips brushed the regrowing stubble, and he knew Jared was tracing the path of the scalpel. Jensen's hand stroked through Jared's hair and cupped his skull, and suddenly he was aware of wetness on the skin of his thigh. Jared tried to suppress it, but the shaky inhale was definitely a sob.  
  
"Jared?"  
  
"Lost him, Jen. Never even got to take a breath. Never held him."  
  
"I know, man."  
  
"He was alive. On the ultrasound he was sucking his--" his voice faltered, then recovered. He still traced the scar. Jensen tried to get him to raise his head, meet Jensen's eyes, but Jared resisted. "--his thumb. He might have lived, if they'd been able to deliver him."  
  
"I know, Jared." Jensen felt a pang of guilt and responsibility for Jared's loss, not for the first time. He'd failed at his job. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"No. Don't you do that. It wasn't your fault." Jared's arms went around Jensen, his face pressing against the scar through the t-shirt, tears soaking the fabric. He held on tight, shook his head. When he got the next words out they were little more than a whisper. "Almost lost you, too."  
  
He did look up then, full into Jensen's face, and Jensen couldn't let that stand, not the way Jared was feeling. He slid down so he could wrap his arms around Jared.  
  
"Right here, man. I'm right here. Not going anywhere." He held Jared tight while he fell apart, while he mourned his son and dealt with the near-loss of his lover. Jared had held everything together, taken care of everybody and everything while Jensen lay damaged and recovering, and now that the crisis was past, it was Jensen's turn to take care of him. "S okay. You're okay. I got you. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see."  
  
  
While Jared slept, Jensen slipped out of bed to shower. He paused at the sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, newly installed, as was the dark-framed standing mirror in the corner of the bedroom. It had been a while since he'd seen more than his face reflected, and he stripped off the shirt and tossed it toward the hamper, and stared unflinchingly at his body.  
  
The scar was still red and a little puffy. He traced it with gentle fingertips, incorporating its reality into his appearance. It would lose the redness, the puffiness, but it was large, and it would always be apparent. He knew it reminded Jared of what--of whom--he'd lost, but he hoped that eventually Jared would be able to look at him and not be reminded of that loss. Jensen stroked his belly, recognizing the need for crunches and sit-ups, lots of them. His fingers wandered over the scar again, and he met his own eyes in the mirror. He wouldn't lie to himself; he wasn't ashamed of the scar, he wasn't afraid to look at it. In fact, if he was completely honest, he loved it a little. The scar had earned his freedom from baby-making. The law still saw him as a ceiver, he knew that. But now, at least to himself, he was just Jensen again.

* * *

  
When the call came from Arthur Clark, Jared had Jill reschedule all his appointments for the afternoon, and raced over to Clark's office. Shaking the lawyer's hand, he met Clark's smile with one of his own.  
  
"Is it real? Did we really do this?"  
  
Clark held out a fat envelope, addressed to Jared in care of Clark's firm. "We really did it. They weren't expecting it, of course. I don't believe this situation has ever come up before."  
  
Jared nodded, his fingertips tracing over the Department of Reproduction letterhead on the envelope.  
  
"But should it ever arise again, there's a precedent now."  
  
Jared flashed a grim little smile. "Good," he said. He waved the sealed envelope. "But--why did this come to me? Why not to Jensen?"  
  
"Because until he signs these," Clark lifted a sheaf of documents that had arrived in a large mailer along with the letter for Jared. "And we have them officially documented, certified, and filed, he's still a ceiver, and you're still legally responsible for him."  
  
Jared nodded. "Can I bring him in tomorrow to have him sign the papers?"  
  
"Of course." Clark agreed at once, then took a longer look at the man in front of him. "You haven't told him, have you? That you were trying to get his ceiver status cancelled? Return his citizenship?"  
  
Jared shook his head.  
  
"So, I imagine this is going to be an interesting evening for the two of you," Clark smiled. "Have you said anything to his family? To your family?"  
  
Jared shook his head again. "Not until we succeeded. I-- I didn't want to get anybody's hopes up, if we couldn't pull it off."  
  
Clark nodded his understanding. "And now we have. There are going to be a lot of happy people in your family, I imagine."  
  
Jared's smile was slow, but it didn't stop growing till the dimples were in full array. He stood, took two swift steps across the room and enveloped the lawyer in a tight hug. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't-- There's no way I can ever--"  
  
"Go home," Clark smiled while gently extricating himself. "Enlighten the young man in your life."  
  
  
  
The phrase in the second verse just wasn't working. Jensen had already employed the McCartney trick of using "scrambled eggs" as a placeholder, but even though the melody seemed solid, words just weren't coming to fit. Not ones that meant anything, anyway. He struck a vicious sour chord on purpose, and from behind him Jared's voice said, "Problems, Jen?"  
  
Jensen turned to see him lounged in the doorway, and his face relaxed into an automatic smile before he registered the tension in Jared's pose and the strange expression he wore, and the envelope and papers he held in the hand that wasn't braced on the door frame.  
  
"Jared? What is it?" Jensen reached him in two strides.  
  
Jared stared into his eyes like he was starving for the sight of him, and Jensen could feel the slight trembling of his body.  
  
"Jared--?"  
  
He thrust the papers into Jensen's hands. Brushing past him into the room, he turned to watch as Jensen read.  
  
"This is addressed to you, Jared." Then he saw the letterhead. "This is from Repro?" He looked for confirmation to Jared, who nodded. "Why are you showing it to me?"  
  
"Read it, Jensen."  
  
Jensen's eyes dropped back to the papers in his hands, and his eyes scanned the print on the pages. As the import of the words began to make sense, as the hope they provided began to seem real, Jensen sought Jared's eyes. "Is this--?"  
  
"It's real, Jen. It's all true. You're free."  
  
Jensen's hands tightened, crumpling the pages. Then he laid them on the desk and smoothed them out again.  
  
"Free," he breathed, as though unsure what the word meant.  
  
"The Department of Reproduction no longer has jurisdiction over you. They release you from ceiver status. You're a free man."  
  
Jensen sought Jared's eyes. Jared didn't see the joy he'd anticipated there, the relief and happiness at being released from a fate he'd never wanted. Jared voiced the thoughts that had been running through his mind since he'd opened and read the documents. "You can have your life back, man. I know you've lost years, but you're still young. You can start your career over, I don't know, find some girl, if you want. Get married. Go-- go out anywhere you want, on your own. 'Get drunk, fuck girls, get in the car and take a road trip, see your friends,'" he quoted something Jensen had said, long ago. "You don't have to stay." Jared's gaze fell; he couldn't stand to watch Jensen's face as the realization hit home. He couldn't watch Jensen begin making plans to leave him, and the life they'd made together. He pulled himself together, stood, and took Jensen in a quick hug and quicker release. "Congratulations, man. We'll have to celebrate." He couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't even look him in the face.  
  
When he went to step back, Jensen's arms went quick around him and held him in place. Jensen caught his jaw in one hand and kissed him, a real kiss, deep and hard. Jensen's hand shook him a little, till his eyes opened, and Jen's own gaze was blazing, joyful, full of promise and a light he'd seen only rarely. "Ass," Jensen accused.  
  
"Wh-What?"  
  
The light dimmed a little, and Jensen released him and stepped back. "You too," he said, suddenly much less happy. "This frees you, too."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well," Jensen shrugged his shoulders casually, though Jared could read the tension in his posture. "I'm no good anymore—no more babies. It's understandable. You want more kids, and I'm sure Repro would be glad to assign you another ceiver--"  
  
"Stop. Just stop it."  
  
He took the step necessary to get him close enough to put hands on Jensen, tilted up his jaw with one hand and kissed him soundly. "Nobody else," he murmured against Jensen's mouth, unwilling to part them more than enough to get the words out. "I don't want another ceiver. I don't want anybody else but you. I love you." He planted soft kisses on Jensen's eyes, and waited till they opened again. "But I don't want you here because you have to be. If you want to go--if you want to find someone--"  
  
Jensen surged up against him, straining to touch everywhere. "Not. Going. Anywhere," he said. "Here to stay."  
  
Jared's smile broke across his face. "Good," he said.  
  



	8. More Than Words – Epilogue

****

**TWENTY-FIVE**

  
He was used to driving, he'd driven lots of times, but it was a little different without Jared in the car running his mouth about something or other. There was nothing really difficult about it. Walking alone into the lobby at Ackles' Ads was...harder than he had expected. A little scary, as stupid as that sounded. Intimidating. Jensen mustered a smile for the receptionist, hired since he'd been here last, and a nod for the scatter of people going about their business as he made his way to his dad's office. Alan was on his feet and around the desk, smile blindingly wide. He hugged Jensen tight, no tighter than Jensen hugged back, though. When they broke, there were tears, manfully wiped away and ignored. His dad grabbed him again, and this time pounded his back before he let him go.  
  
"So. You ready to get back to some real work?"  
  
Jensen snorted. "As if you haven't been a slave driver all this time. Work, work, work, you're never satisfied, are you?"  
  
They agreed Jensen would come in to the office two days a week, and continue to work from home. Alan introduced him around the office to those with whom he'd only worked online till now. He said hello to people he'd known, before. And then he hugged his dad once more before he drove over to the Ackles house, and let himself in the side door. His dad had called ahead, so she wasn't taken completely by surprise. His mom was waiting; her embrace was like coming home.  
  
They spent the afternoon together, she showing him over the house and the changes and improvements they had made, talking about their plans for a tour of Europe in the fall, would he like to come? He found himself hesitating. He should want to, shouldn't he? Why didn't he? The question simmered in the background of their visit while they talked. Every once in a while her hand would reach to touch him: his arm, his hand, his cheek. Tears flowed regardless of conversational topic, and were merely wiped away--they didn't dim the brilliance of her smile.  
  
The sunlight was growing yellow and slanted when they heard the door, and Alan joined them in the family room. "You staying for dinner?"  
  
Jensen stood, an excuse for another hug, as he smiled his regrets. "No, thanks. Not this time. I need to get home."  
  
There was an abrupt silence, thick with meaning and possible misunderstanding. Jensen felt the urge to explain, but right then he wasn't sure what that would be. He stood for a last, long hug from his mom and promised both his parents. "I'll see you soon," he grinned in delight at the truth of it, and they couldn't help smiling back.  
  
  
He showed up at a weekend get-together at Steve's, guitar in hand. Somebody took it and set it aside, and he was hugged and pounded and when he turned, Chris grabbed him and pinched his cheeks. "Jenny!" he grinned, adding his own hug and back-pounding. Steve pried him loose and stuck a beer in his hand and shooed everybody out the back to the deck.  
  
There was music and laughter and lies and tall tales of beautiful women and gigs gone wrong, and gigs gone right, and cops, and more women--pretty much like always. Jensen found himself with a pretty nice buzz and a smile on his face, when a pretty little blonde plopped herself on his lap and started nibbling on his neck. He angled his jaw a little to give her room, and across the deck he caught Chris' grin. His eyebrows lifted along with his longneck in salute, and the grin stretched a little wider before he turned away.  
  
Jensen squirmed in his chair. Things were getting interesting, and oh yes, right there--  
  
But suddenly, everything felt wrong. Very, very wrong. He eased away from the really nice lips doing really-- _really_ \--interesting things to his neck. He took the girl gently by her arms and set her on her feet as he stood up himself. She smiled up at him, that smile promising all sorts of more wonderful things, but he bent to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek, and turned toward the interior of the house with his phone in his hand.  
  
"Jared?"  
  
"Jensen? Something wrong?"  
  
"Dude. I think I've had too much to drink. Can you come get me?"  
  
  
Jared ran a finger up the length of Jensen's arm; the fine hair rose in its wake. Jensen had been frantic to get away from Steve's, had refused to say what had happened at the party. He manhandled Jared up the stairs and stripped him and himself in seconds, shoving him onto the bed and devouring him with kisses, biting, hands everywhere. Jared finally had enough, grabbed the lube and shoved a couple of fingers into him before he slicked himself and pushed in. Jensen arched beneath him, spilling a stream of filth from his lips, his hands everywhere: Jared's ass, his shoulders, his arms, his face, pulling him in, closer, closer. Jared rutted into him, giving him everything, and he took it all, mouth open and gasping, eyes wide and welling tears. Jensen convulsed, and came, and Jared pushed in again, and again, and spilled inside him, and eased down to lie covering him like a blanket, both of them breathing hard and covered in cooling sweat.  
  
Jensen nosed at his jawline. "Love you."  
  
Jared smiled. "I love you too. What was that all about?"  
  
Jensen's head rolled back and forth a little on the pillow, and he gave a gentle snort. "Nothin'." Jared resisted the impulse to lean back and look into his face. He didn't reply; he waited.  
  
"Little blonde," Jensen's voice was low, and Jared could hear something--guilt? uncertainty?--in it. "She. She was ready to go, man. Wanted me." He moved restlessly beneath Jared, and when Jared didn't move he could feel the tension in Jensen's body. Jared rolled enough for Jensen to slide out from underneath. He sat up on the edge of the bed, facing away, but he didn't go any further. "I wanted her, too." His voice was barely a whisper. "I was ready, bedrooms right upstairs. Wanted it. Been a long time."  
  
Jared swallowed, but he didn't move, didn't say anything, and suddenly Jensen turned to face him, eyes blazing, face bright like it was lit from within. "And then all I could smell, and hear, and see--all I could feel, was  _you_. Wanted your hands on me, your taste, my hands in your hair. Your goddamned long legs wrapped around me, the way you smell..." He made no move toward Jared, except for one hand reaching to stroke the back of his fingers along Jared's cheek. "...your fucking dimples, man." And Jared smiled, and produced the dimples. "I couldn't wait. It hurt not to have you right there in front of me, not to breathe your air."  
  
Jared snickered.  
  
"Yeah, cupcake, go ahead, laugh. I'm the girl," Jensen smiled. "I just--"  
  
Jared reached out a long arm and dragged him back into bed, rolling him under and smothering him in kisses. He ran long fingers up and down his sides, tickling, and added a pinch here and there for good measure. Jensen giggled and squirmed and laughed till tears came. "Fucker! Get off me! Jared, Jared--ow, quit!" He howled with laughter and bucked hard, then Jensen suddenly got both hands free and grabbed Jared's face, gentling his grip as he stared up into his eyes. Jared looked back down, and stilled.  
  
"You and me, man," Jensen stretched up for a kiss.  
  
"Yeah," Jared agreed, kissing him back.

* * *

  
Crowds still made him anxious, but he was getting better. Driving in to work two days a week was old hat, now. He'd called Jared to meet for lunch a few times, and at least once a week he drove by and spent an hour or two with his mom. MacKenzie had flown in just to be there when he visited, and Josh brought the family by. His mom wanted to plan a family dinner, but he didn't accept right away.  
  
"Is there a problem, Jensen?" his mom wanted to know.  
  
"Just--" he took a deep breath. "I'd like to bring Jared."  
  
She didn't say anything for a few minutes, and he stepped into the silence. "Think about it. We'll do something soon."  
  
She leveled a look at him. "You could always come downstairs when we're at Jared's."  
  
It was his turn to be silent.  
  
  
The doors to his rooms were still locked. Occasionally he could hear running small feet, distant shouts of laughter or indignation or temper. But mostly he kept occupied with his music or his ad work. He thought he heard noises on the other side of the door while he worked on a song, but he wasn't curious enough to open the door to check it out.  
  
Jared came every night: sometimes he brought supper for them to share, sometimes he came later. He stayed most nights, but sometimes he was tired and didn't stay.  
  
* * *  
  
He shopped for weeks until he found exactly what he wanted. He checked that Cecile would be in for the evening, asked Jared to dinner, and ordered the wine in advance. The food was excellent, the music was tasteful, the wine was wonderful. Both of them were replete, and Jared was relaxed and happy.  
  
Jensen put his hand in his pocket, and cleared his throat. He pulled out the little velvet box and opened it to reveal the identical bands inside. Jared's eyes grew wide, and he searched Jensen's face to see if he was serious.  
  
"Jared, we came to it by a rough road, lots of trials and troubles, not the usual way people find each other. But the simple fact is, you are the love of my life. There's never going to be anybody I'll love more. Marry me. Say yes."  
  
Jared took the box and set it down on the tablecloth. There was a glint of tears in his eyes as he took both of Jensen's hands in his, squeezing a moment before he released them. He smiled, but it wasn't that joyous grin Jensen had expected, and he didn't meet Jensen's eyes.  
  
"I want to say yes, right now, of course I do. Jensen, I love you. I never want to be without you, you know that. But--" He stopped, apparently unable to find the words. Or afraid to voice them. "Maybe we should talk about this at home," he suggested, and Jensen nodded. The evening hadn't gone with the wild joy and celebration he'd planned on, and there was a sense of anticipatory dread about what Jared would have to say. Jensen wanted whatever it was, and the consequences, safely in private.  
  
Neither of them spoke on the drive home. Jensen headed toward the weight room and the stairs out of habit, and he paused when he realized Jared had hesitated at the door to the downstairs hall, his hand on the knob.  
  
"Jared? You coming?"  
  
Jared's expression twisted in a rueful smile, and he followed Jensen up the stairs, into his studio-office. Jensen shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the back of his desk chair. Jared shed his as well, throwing it over the arm of the sofa.  
  
"Okay," Jensen braved the silence. "What's up?"  
  
Jared studied him for a few seconds, then moved to run his fingertips over the surface of the door to the hall, finally flattening his palm against the painted wood. "This."  
  
At Jensen's blank look of incomprehension, he dropped his hand and faced Jensen. He didn't come closer; he spoke from where he stood. "I'm tired of living in a divided house, Jen. I understood, before. I agreed to it then, because that's what you needed, and I wanted you to have whatever it took to make it better."  
  
"But that's all over now. You've got your life back, your freedom. You're not--living in purdah, thank god. You know I love you, you know I want you, more than anything. But how can you ask me to go on living this way, with my house sectioned off? My family separated, under the same roof? It's not right. It's harder than it has to be, than it should be.  
  
"I'm a package deal, you get that, right? I have kids. I can't marry you unless you're ready to accept my kids as well. To get to know them, learn to take care of them, be a second parent figure to them."  
  
Jensen was silent. Stunned, a little. He hadn't expected this, hadn't really considered it. It was Jared he loved, Jared he wanted to be with. But Jared had other obligations, and other people to love. He was asking Jensen to love them, too, to share the obligation. Jensen's knees threatened to buckle, and he found the nearest chair.  
  
"So it's up to you," Jared said. "Whether I say yes, or not."  
  
Jensen nodded. "I don't--" His eyes sought Jared's. "I don't know if that's something I can do," he confessed.  
  
Jared nodded. "I know. But are you willing to try?"

  
* * *

  
Jared had arranged for Cecile to keep the two younger children occupied. Jared himself observed from the nursery doorway as his son noticed the door, the one that had been shut his entire life. It was open. Tired but beloved 'Nochio clutched in one arm, the boy hurried along the hallway toward the irresistible lure of the unexplored, and hesitated cautiously at the threshold, leaning forward a little to peer inside.  
  
  
"Okay, I'll look forward to hearing from you. I hope your client's pleased with the new song." Jensen listened to the other man chortle over his new acquisition until he signed off, and then folded the phone shut. A small sound made him turn.  
  
Standing in the doorway, a limp Pinnochio doll cradled in an arm, was a little boy. Five years old, Jensen knew instantly. His hair was ashy blond, long enough to fall in unruly curls on his forehead and over his ears. "Hello," Jensen said. Green eyes looked up, and up, from where they'd been focused on the floor, until they met Jensen's own. "And who are you?"  
  
"I'm Alan MacKenzie Ackles-Padalecki," the boy carefully enunciated. "But my Papa calls me Mac."  
  
  


**EPILOGUE**

  
  
Mac was a serious little dude, Jensen discovered, with an urgent desire to know how things worked, a demanding quest for logic. Jensen was bemused to observe a beginning grasp of sarcasm, and felt vaguely responsible for that. But there was also Mac's ability to fall into giggle fits that Jared exploited mercilessly by tickling, and a love for stories. At five, he was beginning to read, and would climb into Jared's lap with a book or three almost anytime he found Jared sitting down, or could coax him to sit down, willing to attempt to read or be read to, either, as long as there was a story to share.  
  
Shannon Rose was named in combination of their mothers' names, Sharon and Donna, Jared told him, and Rose for Ross. Jensen smiled his approval at the first and was surprisingly touched by the second. Physically she was Jared's child, long of limb, with skin that tanned easily and well, with tumbled chestnut curls and tip-tilted eyes. Those eyes, however, did not hold Jared's easy warmth and humor. They were assessing, as though she expected to be disappointed, and they were vivid green. Shannon was demanding, imperious, bossy with her brothers, and with any adults who let her get away with it. She was a far more difficult and prickly child than Mac.  
  
But it was Shannon, Jared said, who, as soon as she could crawl, would sit beside the door at the end of the hall, rocking on her diapered butt to the music she heard through the door, and patting the wooden surface.  
  
JJ, not named for Jared and him as Jensen had supposed, but Jeffrey Joshua, for their older brothers, was the one who had Jared's smile, his dimples, and the changeable cloud-colored eyes. His laugh was Jared's, easily triggered and infectious. He was a cuddler, and he immediately decided Jensen was a new adult to conquer. Jensen found himself with a lapful of sweaty-damp two-year-old, apparently content to be in contact with another human. JJ was easygoing and easy to please. Shannon's attempts to dictate rolled off him without making a mark, and he was as likely to follow Mac around and "help" with whatever his elder brother was doing as he was to attach himself to Leslie, Cecile, Jared, or Jensen. Jensen had yet to see JJ in meltdown. He didn't know if the kid ever did melt down.  
  
Despite his fears and misgivings, Jensen had to conclude they were neat kids. Jared and the nannies got all the credit for that, no argument. But Jensen couldn't help watching each of them, realizing one day that he was searching for bits of himself in them: behavior, attitude, a flash of a pout or a grin. He saw his dad in Mac, the way he quietly kept a protective eye on his siblings, and his mom in the way he managed them, and the nannies if they let him, using charm and benevolent manipulation. Shannon had his dad's exacting standards about things. JJ had a little of Mackenzie's joy and anticipation, but it was hard to see much of anybody else past Jared's dimples and smile. But eventually Jensen was so intent on getting to know them, in learning who they were, he stopped searching for comparisons. He read to Mac, and asked the boy to read to him. It wasn't long before it was a toss-up whose lap Mac would head for if Jensen and Jared were both seated. Either was good with Mac.  
  
The day he brought his guitar out to the back yard and sat in the shade to play, Shannon came and sat right in front of him, watching his fingers as they moved over the strings, and rocking a little. As soon as he'd played through the first verse, he heard her humming the melody. A little afraid he might not meet her standards, he sang the lyrics in harmony. She picked them up the next time, and kept solid on the melody. A little thrill went through him. He wished his friends could be here to see, his kid! Singing, and with no training. He couldn't wait for them to hear her!  
  
Mac and JJ gathered near him, too, JJ collapsed on Mac's lap, since Jensen's was full of guitar. They hummed along a little. Mac had a decent enough voice; it would be better if he practiced, Jensen knew. JJ couldn't seem to find the tune, but that didn't seem to bother him. He was just happy to be included in this new thing with his brother and sister.  
  
  
Jared met him at Murphy's; Jensen offered to buy. After steaks and piles of garlic fries and a couple of beers, Jensen waited until the table was cleared to pull the box out of his pocket. He set it, open, on the table, and leaned back to wait for Jared's reaction.  
  
Jared's hand went out to stroke a fingertip over the curve of one of the bands. His eyes were clear and serious when they met Jensen's. "You sure, Jen?"  
  
Jensen nodded. "I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And the kids? They're great kids, Jared. You've done a wonderful job with them. But I think it's time I picked up my share of the weight."  
  
  
  
They watched Mac and Shannon playing in the grass under the trees. JJ was trying to settle for a nap on the blanket Cecile had spread in the shade, but Shannon insisted on "decorating" him with blades of grass and the odd clover and dandelion blossoms. Mac watched them both, ready to intervene if Shannon got too rough.  
  
"He's very protective," Jensen smiled, and Jared nodded agreement.  
  
He seemed to hesitate, but then he took a breath and continued, not meeting his husband's curious glance. "I've been kind of thinking about that."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. Mac's kind of a quiet kid. He is very nurturing. He takes on the responsibility of the younger ones like it's his job."  
  
"And that's a bad thing, how?"  
  
"I don't-- No, it's not a bad thing, but..."  
  
There was obviously something bothering Jared, and just as obviously he was having a hard time talking about it. "Spit it out, Jared. What's bothering you?"  
  
"Jen, we know there's a good chance either of them could be ceivers."  
  
A little chill ran up Jensen's spine, but he said nothing, waiting for Jared to go on.  
  
"And, if it turns out Mac is, well, it sort of seems like he'd be good at it, you know? The way he's quiet, and how much he looks after the littler ones." Jared waited, but Jensen didn't say anything for a few minutes.  
  
"Well, that would be a good thing. Right?" Jensen's voice was a little shaky, his tone uncertain. He sought Jared's eyes, but Jared's gaze was lost in the middle distance.  
  
"That's just it. Is it a good thing? I mean, what if he wants to do something else? What if he's  _good_  at something else? Shouldn't he get to choose?"  
  
 _Yes!_  Jensen agreed vehemently, but he kept his features impassive, wanting to know what Jared was thinking, how he felt. "What are you saying, Jared?"  
  
"Jen, I know this is just how things are supposed to be." Jared fidgeted, the unfamiliar ideas making him uncomfortable and unsure. "We grew up knowing how things work, just accepted it." He looked at Jensen then, met his eyes and searched his expression for understanding. "I remember how things were for you--"  
  
"We'd have him tested, both of them, when it's time," Jensen spoke reassuringly, playing devil's advocate, keeping to the government's policy line. "He'd have the training. It wouldn't be hard on him, it would be--normal, for him. It wouldn't be like it was with me."  
  
"But." Jared was struggling, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from his son. From both his boys. "He should be able to choose. If that's what he wants, I think I'd be fine with it. But if he wants to play baseball, or be a world champion skier, or a marine biologist, he should get to do that." Jared's eyes found his husband's, and every bit of his uncertainty and emotion was apparent. "Shouldn't he get to do that?"  
  
Jensen had a hard time speaking. There weren't words adequate enough to express how much he agreed, but he hadn't ever dared to believe Jared would arrive at this point of view. He was grateful for it, but it was also a frightening concept to think about.  
  
"I think so, Jared," he said softly. "But what can we do? If he's--if either or both of them are ceivers?"  
  
He waited, but Jared just stared at him, as though reaching here was hard enough, he'd never thought beyond this point.  
  
"As I see it," Jensen offered, struggling to contain his emotions, to keep his voice neutral, to let Jared have the chance to think things through on his own. "We have three choices: we obey the law, give him--or both of them--over to the training and hope he's assigned to a good man, who'll be kind to him. If he's very lucky, his pere will love him, and be someone he can love in turn."  
  
Jared nodded. This is how his world had always been ordered. It's what he'd always believed was normal, the way things were supposed to work. But he realized it was always someone else's sons becoming ceivers. He wasn't sure how he felt, now that his--that their--own children could be involved. His expression conveyed his uneasiness with this path.  
  
"We can leave," Jensen produced a second option, and Jared's attention was caught. "I have relatives in Europe, in Ireland. We could relocate there, where their ceiver program is different. It's voluntary, not mandatory, and a ceiver can retire when he wants, after one baby or a dozen, it's up to him. And even if he's identified, whether or not he has the training and becomes a ceiver is up to him, not the government."  
  
Jared nodded slowly, frowning. "But our families, our friends, everybody we know," he mused. "It would be a whole new environment, a different culture. If we moved there, wouldn't you miss, I don't know, home?"  
  
"Well, yeah," Jensen agreed. "But that's what we need to decide--what's most important to us? And how much are we willing to give up to keep it?"  
  
Jared sighed, and nodded again. "You said there are three choices. What's the third?"  
  
Jensen hesitated, then shrugged. "We fight."  
  
"What?" Jared wasn't entirely sure he'd heard right.  
  
"Surely we're not the only parents who are... who don't want to surrender their child and his happiness, his chances to achieve something he enjoys and is good at, to the purposes of the state. We can't be the only ones. So we find others, and we organize, and we get the laws changed."  
  
Jared stared at him, speechless. The idea was treason, they could be arrested, jailed, and they would be if they did this and were discovered. He meant to reject the idea and respond angrily to Jensen for even mentioning it. He took a breath to say something harsh, but Mac's giggle reached him from across the lawn, and abruptly, his voice didn't work.  
  
Jensen watched him with understanding in his eyes. "What are you willing to do?"

**End**

**[ ](http://bflyw.livejournal.com/524671.html) **

**Author's note**

First, I want to thank wendy and thehighwaywoman for all their hard and wonderful work organizing this beast and herding all the participants. It's a superhuman effort, and you guys make it look easy.

I am forever grateful for the two best betas in the world. mickeym's deep and empathetic response to the beginnings of this story and its projected storyline, and her insistence that it was Big Bang worthy--well, y'all have her to blame, that's all I'm saying. And we all have spn_j2fan to thank for reassurance, hand-patting, and the hard job of nudging back on track a storyline that wanted to wander. More than once. Without their investment and support, none of us would ever have seen the middle, much less the end, of this story.

I owe sophiap grateful thanks for a fast and dirty, remarkably sane POV check. And my wonderful artist bflyw emailed me less than 24 hours after I sent her the rough draft, excited and emotionally engaged, and already with a vision. That vision has stayed true, and only been refined and perfected since then. I'm so grateful for that vision, and for her generous, gorgeous expression of it attached to this story. Go tell her how much you love it! Her guidance to this first-time Big Bang poster has also been invaluable. The .pdf file is entirely thanks to her.

This story rose out of my personal unease with the status and the plight of women world over, and increasingly in the US. I have personal knowledge of the world before Roe v. Wade and ERA. I've confronted HR over wage discrimination, sexual harrassment, and dress codes. I've watched as the rights women so recently fought for and won have been eroded since by government and by intent of those in power and indifference of those affected, with younger generations of women unaware or unconcerned with what they're losing. Fearing where this erosion will lead, Jensen is my avatar for women: stripped of autonomy and ambition, kept separate from the world by restrictions and convention, hidden from public view and marked as separate, lesser, as owned property, by the clothing that identifies him and the purpose that remains for him.

But it's also a story about how love can happen even in unexpected ways and times, and what love means.

 [MASTERPOST](http://fufaraw.livejournal.com/4105.html?format=light)(LJ) || [ART(LJ)](http://bflyw.livejournal.com/524671.html)  



End file.
